It's a Very Very Mad World
by three-days-late
Summary: Because you know it is. Next: Olympics AU. Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland are childhood friends competing for the same gold medal. Just an average day for them, really.
1. Everything's Cooler in Space!

**I've decided to put all of my random one-shots in one story because I like it better that way, starting with this one. Sorry to everyone who faved this and isn't in to that.**

**So, this is an anything goes type of place, since my imagination is all over the place, expect everything and anything. That includes angst, fluff, crack, yaoi, yuri, whatever. If it's not your cup of tea, then you can just skip that one.**

**Enjoy.  
**

* * *

"Haha!" America exclaimed as he held the pen above his head in an overly-dramatic fashion. "Behold my brilliance!"

"Congratulations," England said sarcastically, "you've invented the pen. Because those haven't been around since, you know, the beginning of time."

"Ah England," the blonde nation sighed, "I remember how I too was just as young and naïve as you are."

"I'm the one who bloody raised you, you twit!"

"I don't see what all the excitement is about. Must be a western thing, aru." China muttered.

"_Au contraire, _I'm from Europe and I still never know what's going on in his head." France said. "Must be a North America thing."

"I'm from North America and I still don't get him." Canada put in. Nobody heard him though, so they agreed it was a North America thing.

"So what's so bloody special about this pen anyway?"

"Glad you asked." America held the pen for all to see. "This pen is superior to all other pens! Using the greatest minds and engineering skills only America can offer, I have managed to develop a pen that can write in space!"

The other nations blinked in unison. "Say what now?"

"Yes that's right, this pen can write in zero gravity conditions! Not only that, but it can write upside down, left side right, underwater, in temperatures up to three hundred degrees below zero, and on any surface you can imagine!"

"Why would you want to write underwater, aru?" China asked. "Unless you've also developed water-proof paper, your efforts would be in vain."

"You're missing the point." America waved his concerns off. "The fact is not whether it is practical to actually write under water, but rather that this pen is capable of doing so!"

"What was the purpose of creating this magic pen of yours, _mon ami_?" France asked. "It has a certain charm to it, I suppose, but really, is it necessary?"

"Of course! With this I can write in space! Do you not see the endless possibilities! Now my astronauts can take notes about what's going on up there. This little pen of mine will put me eons ahead in the space race!"

"Is that so?" Russia commented.

"As a matter of fact, it is." America hugged the pen close to his chest. "And you can't have my miracle pen."

"That's quite alright. Your pen is cool and all, but we Russians have already have a device that allows us to write in space. We've been using it for years, in fact."

"Really?" America backed down a bit, trying not to let his irritation that his rival had stolen his idea before he even thought of it show. "What is it then? Can you show us?"

"Um, I don't quite have one on me right now." the Russian admitted, "We call it a Карандаш, though I suppose you would just refer to it as a pencil."

* * *

_**"Today, I read that when NASA first started sending astronauts in space they discovered that ball point pens didn't work in zero gravity. They spent a decade and 12 billion dollars to develop a pen that would write in zero gravity, upside down, under water, on any surface and tempatures that reached 300 degrees below zero. The Russians used a pencil. MLIA"**_

**True story.**

**We still love you and your crazy pen, America!  
**


	2. Waking Up in Russia

**About Czechoslovakia, in my head-cannon they're identical twins, Czech and Slovakia, who do _everything_ together until 1993, but this happens before then, during the Cold War sometime. In case you were wondering.**

**It's just some Eastern Bloc randomness. Enjoy.  
**

* * *

Russia was up at 7:00 AM on the dot every day. He expected everyone else in his house to be up by that time as well. He didn't request it, but he implied that it would be nice if breakfast was ready by that time as well.

So, everyday at 6:00 AM, Estonia's alarm goes off and his day begins.

He takes five minutes to get himself up and dressed before he goes next door to wake up Latvia, Lithuania, and Poland. The other Baltic States know the routine by now, so it only takes a few shakes to get them up, but Poland is still pretty new. After Estonia's struggles with him fail, Lithuania takes over and tells Estonia to go wake everyone else up. This usually happens at around 6:15 AM.

Romania, Bulgaria, and the Czechoslovakian twins all wake up rather easily, although it does take a few kicks from Bulgaria before Romania actually gets up. Estonia leaves them to their own devices by 6:25 AM.

Russia doesn't mind if Ukraine and Belarus oversleep, and since Belarus will pull her knife on him if the Baltic nation tries to wake her up at this hour, he lets them get up on their own. He used to just avoid their wing altogether, but now he has to wake Hungary up, so Estonia is extra careful when creeping by their room to not. Make. A. Peep.

Luckily Hungary is a morning nation, so if she isn't up by the time Estonia gets to her, then it only takes a few seconds to do so. He lets her get dressed and go help Lithuania with breakfast if Poland decided to wake up at this time, start on it if he hasn't.

It's 6:30 AM when he finally gets to Prussia's room.

At first Estonia tried waking Prussia up fairly early in his schedule, but this was quickly changed when he found out that if he didn't saved the German for last, he would not be able to wake everyone else up in time. So he put him at the end of his list, and spends most of his remaining thirty Russia-free-minutes trying to wake the stubborn nation up.

He always tries shaking him first, shouting, "Prussia, it's time to get up." It never actually works.

Prussia turns over in his sleep and muttered, "Five more minutes, West." Good, he was dreaming about family. Estonia has found that the albino's dreams could be fit into three categories: war, sex, and family. The last one was always better for the Baltic's vital regions.

"Prussia," he tries again, "its morning. Wake up.""

The German's arm lunges out and grabs the stunned Estonian before pulling him into a bear hug. "Of course I'll visit you this summer Italy." He murmurs.

He struggles against his hold despite the fact that he knows from previous experience that it's pointless. "Prussia let me go!"

As if on cue, Latvia shows up on the other side of the bed, holding a foaming mug. "Prussia, I've got beer." He says. The nation in question shot up, pushing Estonia to the floor in the process, and finishes off the drink in one mighty gulp. Afterwards he plops back down on the pillow and descended back into dreamland.

"Don't go back to sleep…" Estonia complains. With Latvia's help, they manage to push him onto the floor, where he continues to snooze away. By now it's about 6:45 AM.

At this point the two Baltic nations take matters into their own hands and dress Prussia themselves. Once that's complete they proceed to drag him out of the room and down the stairs. If he doesn't wake up in the middle of this and start hitting them, then Hungary gives him a whack on the head with her frying pan when they finally get to the kitchen at 6:55 AM.

"What the hell woman!" Prussia shouts. Everyone else is already in the kitchen getting the table ready for breakfast.

Hungary clicks her tongue at him. "You shouldn't oversleep and create problems for Estonia like this!"

"Whatever, I do what I want!" The German pouts. Hungary just hits him again.

"Good morning everyone!" Russia says as he enters the kitchen.

"Good morning Russia." Everyone but a stubborn Prussia and Hungary replies.

"Well aren't we having a good morning, da?"


	3. The Thanksgiving Day Special

**Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Or rather, I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving, since it's after midnight.**

**This is something random I wrote simply because it's Thanksgiving. All of the food research was done on the internet, so if I messed something up, please let me know and I'll fix it.**

**Enjoy.  
**

**Warning: Randomness**

**Pairings: Implied Spain x Romano, FrUK if you squint and turn your head sideways.**

**Hetalia ain't mine.  
**

* * *

Japan woke up early that morning and expected to have a quiet, relaxing day. He was preparing himself for such when he received a phone call from America.

"Hey Japan!" The eager nation shouted through the phone. "What are you bringing to my house tonight?"

"Sorry? I don't quite follow." Japan asked, generally confused. When did America invite him over?

"You're coming to Thanksgiving tonight right? Everyone else will be there."

"Is this some kind of American thing?"

"Yeah it's is! Well, Canada had his Thanksgiving last month, but he only invited me, England, France, Cuba, and Prussia. Cuba's not coming to mine though. He annoys me."

"I wasn't aware I was invited over for this…"

"But I have it every year! Now that I think about it though, you never do come…"

"Maybe because I don't know what's going on?" Sometimes getting information out of his western friend was like pulling teeth.

"Oh. So when I was like _really_ little these pilgrims came over from England and tried to live on my land. They had no idea what they were doing, so the natives and I helped them farm and stuff. When the harvest came we all celebrated by having this huge feast that lasted for days on end. And I've been doing it once a year ever since. So what are you bringing?"

"I've never been to one of these. What should I bring?"

"Everyone else just brings a national dish…bring sushi!"

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, I always like Japan's sushi, so you should bring that!"

"Alright then, America-san, I will bring sushi to your house tonight."

"Yeah! Awesome! See ya then!" With that, America abruptly hung up the phone.

Still not quite sure what was going on, Japan set off to buy sushi ingredients.

* * *

On his way to America's house, Japan happened to run into China, Korea, and Taiwan who were heading to the same place as he.

"Did America-san drag you to this Thanksgiving thing too?" Japan asked.

"Yeah, but it's not that bad aru." China said. He held up the container he was carrying under his arm. "I'm bringing Won Ton Soup this year."

"I was told to bring sushi…"

"I always love your sushi, Japan." Taiwan said, holding out her container to show too. "I've got Chao Main this year! They're special noodles."

"I'm bringing Kongnamool Moochim. It's a soy bean sprout salad, you know." Korea proudly stated before turning to China and adding, "By the way, aniki, you know soup was invented in Korea."

"Let's get going, aru. We don't want to be late and not get a seat." China said, pushing forward and ignoring his little brother. The others shrugged and followed.

* * *

About halfway there, the Asians ran into Russia, his sisters, and the Baltics, and Poland, all on their way to America's too.

"Like, how weird is it meeting you here to? Totally didn't except that." Poland said.

"What's America making you bring?" Russia innocently asked. Japan inadvertently shuddered anyway.

"Sushi."

"Soup."

"Noodles."

"Salad."

"What about you guys, aru?"

"Borsch." Russia held out the container for all to behold.

"Fish stewed with potatoes." Belarus said. "They're your favorite, right brother?"

"Uh…"

"I've got paska! Last year no one brought bread…" Ukraine interrupted.

"Kuldunia." Lithuania showed them his meatball dumplings.

"Like, totally brining pierogies." Poland said.

"Where are they?" Korea asked.

"Dunno. I don't like, think I forgot them."

"I have them, don't worry." Lithuania responded.

"I've got herring and potato salad." Estonia said, showing off his creation.

"Frikadelu Zupa." Latvia presented his meatball soup to the onlookers.

"A lot of meat, isn't there?" Japan wondered aloud.

"Relax." Russia threw an arm around the worried nation's shoulders. "Other people will bring other things."

"That's…good." The larger group continued on their way.

* * *

They arrived at America's house before most of Europe. Greece and Turkey were already there, glaring at each other from across the room, as well as Egypt, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein, who were watching American Football on the TV.

"Hey you guys! You made it!" America came bouncing up to them. "Come and put your stuff on the table and wait for the others.

He led them into the large dining room that was set up for the event. The food was arranged on the table by courses, appetizers, soups, and salads at one end, main dishes and sides in the middle, and desserts at the other end. Drinks were on a separate table. Already on the table were Courgette balls in the appetizer section from Greece, Lor Tatalisi in the dessert section from Turkey, Sahlab on the drink table from Egypt, Chocolate in the dessert section from Switzerland, and Knopfli in the side dish section from Liechtenstein, and a Turkey, provided by America.

Shouting erupted from the living room, so America left to deal with that while his guests placed their own food in the appropriate places. Japan was looking at the chocolate with interest.

"Isn't that…kind of cheating?"

"Don't say that to his face aru. He brings it ever year, and somehow Customs lets him keep his gun…"

* * *

The Nordics were next to arrive.

"Sorry we're late." Finland immediately apologized as he put his Herring with Garlic on the table.

"Someone forget where your house was and refused to ask for directions." Norway stared pointing at Denmark while he added Cod Casserole to the spread.

"I found it eventually. Why are you still on about that?" Denmark snapped as he put Chokoladekage in the dessert section.

Iceland silently put his flat bread down next to Ukraine's paka. "No one brought bread last year." He explained.

Sweden grunted as he added his Kaldomar.

Japan was about to ask about the stuffed cabbage rolls when the German and Italy brothers barged in. Italy gave the room a quick sweep before spotting him.

"Japan!" He rushed over, balancing his dish on his head, and gave the nation at hug. "How have you been? I didn't think you'd come! What did you bring, oh," he spotted the sushi on the table, "Yey! I like your sushi Japan!" All of his moving about caused the soup on his head to fall off. Romano dived to save it, hitting his elbow hard against the floor in the process.

"Idiot! You almost lost the soup! And I hurt my elbow! Why are you such a jerk?"

"Sorry, Romano. I was just excited. Look, Japan, I brought Escarole Soup!" He shoved the green, meatball soup under Japan's nose before Romano yanked it away and put it by the other soups. "Romano brought Lasagna!"

"What did you bring, Germany-san?" Japan asked in an attempt to divert the Italian's attention

"Bratwurst." Japan was, frankly, unsurprised. "I'm actually surprised to see you here too, Japan."

"The more the merrier, right West?" Prussia said, grinning. "You didn't happen to bring sake, did you?"

The Asian shook his head. "Sushi."

"Maybe next year…"

"What did you bring, Prussia-san?"

"'Technically not a nation' means I don't _have_ to bring anything but I can still eat all that I want. It's a pretty sweet deal."

"You're just a lazy bastard!" Romano raged.

"You're just jealous you didn't take advantage of not technically being a nation too."

"I'm more of a nation then you'll ever be!"

"Is that why there's only one Italy?"

"_Fratello_, please…" Italy begged.

"Look, Denmark brought Chocolate Beer Cake." Germany pointed out, hoping to distract his brother. It worked.

"Really? Sweet! Can I have some now?"

"Sure, why not? I kinda want some too." Denmark pulled out his ax and positioned it over the cake.

"Waaaaaiiit!!!!" America came running into the dining room and screeched to a halt. "You can't eat anything until everyone is here!"

"No fun." Prussia and Denmark said simultaneous.

"Rules are rules! Go play in the living room."

* * *

Austria and Hungary arrived not long after that, bringing Wiener Schnitzel and Cabbage Strudel respectively.

"It's better than it sounds." Hungary assured Japan after he eyed the dish cautiously.

Spain showed up right after with Paella, just in time to drag Romano away from getting his ass kicked by Prussia again. No one saw either of them for the rest of the night.

* * *

France, England, and Canada, despite being the closest geographically, were the last to arrive.

"_Pardon_, but I had to completely remake England's pudding so it could be consumed by humans." France explained as he placed his Escargot on the table.

"You annoying twat! My pudding was fine andtheremakingdidn'ttakethatlong, your hair was what made us late! Who spends five hours fixing their hair?" England snapped as he added his pudding to the desserts.

"Only about thirty minutes was on the hair." Canada stated as he added mashed potatoes as the final dish. "The other four and a half hours was spent groping everyone in a ten mile radius…"

"Ah, _mon cher,_" he slid his arm around the younger nation's shoulder, "that is what they call love!"

"No, it's called sexual harassment." England sated.

"So glad the whole family could make it." America said to Japan as France felt up Canada while he proceeded to verbally attack England. "They're crazy, but that's what Thanksgiving is all about."

* * *

Somehow everybody was able to make it to the table and sit down without too much blood being spilled. Japan found himself across from Korea and between Germany and Italy.

"Someone should say grace!" Italy shouted suddenly.

"But…I'm not Christian…" Japan muttered.

"That doesn't matter, it just doesn't feel right otherwise, you know."

"Do you know it?" Greece asked from somewhere on the other side of the table.

"Not really. Romano does though! But I don't know where he is…"

"Spain should too," Prussia stated from the other side of Germany, "but he's MIA as well."

"America, it's your bloody holiday," England pointed out from the end of the table next to America, who was sitting at the head. "You do it."

"Oh Lord, we thank Thee for our daily bread. May it…something something, and something else. I forget the rest."

"Amen!" Italy shouted before diving into the food. Everyone else quickly followed suit and chaos erupted.

_But…it's kind of nice this way. _Japan thought as he grabbed some of the turkey as it came his way.

* * *

Japan was stuffed. He wasn't sure he'd ever eaten so much in his entire life. Everyone's dishes were just so interesting that he just had to try whatever came his way.

He was outside moon viewing with Italy and Germany. Well, just Italy now, since Germany had fallen into a beer-induced sleep a few minutes ago. He wasn't the only one either.

Prussia was currently trying to out-drink Denmark and Finland, the other Nordics currently out for the count.

China had left about an hour ago, dragging an intoxicated (and clingy) Korea with him. Russia volunteered to escort them and Belarus came along too to protect her brother. Ukraine, who couldn't find a ride with anyone else, came along too. Taiwan had decided to stay at Hungary's for the night and the two of them and Austria had left a little while ago.

Estonia had somehow agreed to be the Nordic's designated driver and couldn't leave until they all either passed out or somehow made it to the car, either on their own or not. Latvia stayed to keep him company, but Lithuania and Poland already left.

Greece and Turkey eventually snapped and started fighting, but at America's suggestion they duke it out with DDR instead of fists. Both were passed out in the living room. Egypt, who came with Turkey, got a ride from Switzerland and Liechtenstein instead.

England had increased in volume and violence as he got more alcohol in his system. Eventually France got annoyed with him and took him upstairs. Canada and America gave up on them and went to play Guitar Hero in the basement.

Spain and Romano were still MIA.

"Ve…it was nice, wasn't it Japan."

"Yes," Japan admitted after a slight pause, "it was rather nice."

"You should come back next year." The Italian said sleepily. "You're coming next year too, right?"

"I...could make a habit of this."


	4. Don't Ever Stop Believing

**I don't even know...**

**Characters: America, England, Prussia, Korea**

**Warnings: Crack, and an impromptu musical number.**

**I don't own Hetalia, the countries mentioned, or the song "Don't Stop Believing."  
**

* * *

"You seem upset." America stated.

"Really? I never would have figured that out without your help." England said sarcastically before plopping down on the chair in the center of the room. "Piss off; I don't feel like dealing with you right now."

"But I know how to make you feel better!"

"I don't want a bloody hamburger." He sighed. Just then music started up from seemingly nowhere. "W-what's going on?" England looked around worriedly for the source of the strange sounds. "America…"

"_Just a small town girl," _America started singing.

"Oh god…" England buried his face in his hands.

"_Living in a lonely world," _the other nation continued, "_She took the midnight train going anywhere…_"

He held out his hand, signaling England to continue the song.

"Don't be ridiculous!" He snapped. "I'm not singing with you! What kind of fool do you take me for?" the music stopped as suddenly as it had started

America looked away severely disappointed when all of a sudden they heard someone running down the hallway towards the room. They both turned their heads to see Prussia burst into the room, panting for breath.

"What the…what are you doing here?" England asked.

The intruder took a few deeps breaths before continuing, "_J-Just a city boy…_" the music started up again.

"Not you too!"

"_Born and raised in South Detroit,"_ he sauntered farther into the room until he too was standing in front of England, _"He took the midnight train going anywhere…"_

"You are both gits!" England shouted. "Why would anyone just randomly burst into song like that? Honestly, you two are the only nations in the whole world who-"

His rant was interrupted by Korea, who popped up from outside the open window right behind him.

"_A singer in a smoky room,"_ he belated. England buried his face in his hands again. _"A smell of wine and cheap perfume. For a smile they can share the night. It goes on and on and on and on…"_

"What…how…why…" So many unanswered questions as Korea hopped into the room and joined America and Prussia in the center for the chorus.

"_Strangers, waiting,"_ all three of them sang out, _"Up and down the boulevard. Their shadows, searching, in the night."_ At this point America got down on a knee to the left of England, who was doing his best to pretend that the three of them weren't there, while Prussia decided to stand behind him and lean up against the back of the chair. Korea remainedwhere he was.

"_Streetlights, people, living' just to find emotion. Hiding', somewhere in the night."_

After they were done holding out the last note, America sprang up from his position on the floor to stand next to Korea again. He rested his arm on the other nation's shoulder before singing the next line by himself.

"_Working' hard to get my fill…"_

Prussia mussed up England's hair while singing the next line, _"Everybody wants a thrill."_

"_Paying' anything to roll the dice," _Korea sang out.

America finished the phrase, _"Just one more time…"_

Prussia came out from behind the chair to kneel down and take England's right hand. _"Some will win."_

Korea did the same on his left. _"Some will lose."_

America dramatically shot out his arm and offered his hand to the green-eyed nation in the chair. _"Some were born to sing the blues,"_

"_Oh, the movie never ends," _Prussia let go of his hand to return to America's side and rest his elbow on the nation's left shoulder.

"_It goes on and on and on and on…"_ Korea mimicked him on the right.

They untied again for the chorus. _"Strangers, waiting, up and down the boulevard. Their shadows, searching in the night."_

"I hate you all…" England mumbled from his chair. The other three ignored him and kept singing.

"_Streetlights, people, living' just to find emotion. Hiding', somewhere in the night!"_

While America continued to hold out the long note, Prussia did a guitar slide on his knees and brought out his air guitar. Korea and America leaned back to back and backed him up with theirs.

"Is that absolutely necessary?!"

"_Don't stop, believing!" _America and Korea sang.

"_Hold on to that feeling!" _Prussia continued, still on the ground. He got up and stood by the others to sing the next part with them.

"_Streetlights, people."_

America dropped to his knees and held a fist to his chest while the other two sang, _"Don't stop, believing."_

"_Hold on!!!!!!!!"_ America sang by himself.

"_Streetlights, people." _All three of them sang together.

America stood up while him and Prussia sang, _"Don't stop, believing."_

Korea's solo. _"Hold on to that feeling!!!"_

"_Streetlights, people..."_ They ended up finishing on the fade out.

"Is it over?" England asked as he looked up to see the three of them shaking hands.

"Thanks guys." America said.

"You were lucky I was in the area," Prussia stated, "you wouldn't have been able to find back up as awesome as me just anywhere."

"You know, music was invented in Korea…"

"_You_," England stood up and pointed accusingly at his former colony, "you planned this from the beginning!"

"I wish. If I did, I would have gotten France and Japan in on it too."

"But…then how…"

Prussia slung his arm across England's shoulders. "When Journey comes on, you've just gotta sing along, you know?" Korea nodded sagely in agreement.

"You're all a bunch of bloody wankers."

Korea looked confused, Prussia just laughed, and America smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh shit, is that the time?" the red-eyed nation exclaimed as he caught sight of the clock on the wall. "I'm supposed to go annoy Austria! Later!" He winked and rushed out the door.

"I was supposed to meet Aniki an hour ago!" Korea ran over to the window and jumped out of it.

"So, you feel better now, right?" America asked.

"Yes, I feel _much_ better now." The blue-eyed nation grinned like an idiot.

"That's good! Right?"

"Yes, it is. Now please get out of my house."


	5. Snowy Memories

**It finally snowed! It didn't stick yet, but still, it was nice.**

**Historical Timeline: Sometime during Tectonic Knights - American Revolution - Sometime during the German Confederation - Sometime after the Berlin Wall - Let's go with yesterday.  
**

**Warnings: Some fluff, some angst. Really just random.**

**Pairings: PrussiaxHungary in the beginning, one sided RussiaxPrussia in the middle, PrussiaxCanada at the end if you want it. Oh, and mentions of AustriaxHungary.**

**Hetalia's not mine.  
**

* * *

He was crouching behind a bush, freezing, but his white hair and uniform were blending in nicely with the snow covered surroundings, which was perfect for the situation.

Suddenly Hungary walked by, still wearing her armor, and he chose that moment to lunge out of his hiding spot and tackle her to the ground. She easily saw through his sneak attack and somehow reversed their positions so she was pinning him to the ground.

"Some knight you are, sneaking up on a defenseless maiden like that."

"Defenseless maiden? Don't make me laugh. Last month you still thought you were a boy!" He struggled to get out of her clutches, but she wasn't letting him go that easily.

"That has nothing to do with anything." Hungary tightened her grip on his wrists, a slight blush crossing her cheeks. "What do you want?"

"Nothing." He refused to make eye contact.

"You decide to sneak attack me for nothing?" She raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"I was just…testing you. Making sure you…weren't slacking off or anything."

Hungary laughed. "I'm sure." She leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "Thanks for caring." With that, she got up and continued on her way.

The white haired nation continued to lie in the snow, hand lightly touching his lips, not all that cold anymore.

That was his first kiss…

* * *

Prussia looked down at the colony-err, nation, lying in the snow.

"Get up." He commanded, nudging the young blonde with his foot.

"Tired…cold…hungry…" was the only response he got.

"Of course you're tired and cold and hungry. This is war, and right now, you suck at it."

"Hey!" America sat up, clearly offended by the comment. "What gives you the right to say that?"

"Because I'm awesome at it." He nodded towards the Continental Army a ways away. "And your guys are currently freezing to death. England doesn't even have to fight you; he can just wait out the winter and let you die out here."

"What do you want me to do about it?" The younger nation slowly rose to his feet. "I'm trying my best, but we can't even get enough shoes let alone food!"

"Even if you did survive the winter, it'll do you no good." Prussia went on. "Your moral is low, your so called troops are an undisciplined mess, and you have no allies."

"No one thinks we can win…but we're talking to France-"

"And they're right. You can't win. Even if France agrees to help you, he's no match for the British Empire by himself, and frankly you'll just hold him back."

"This is my fight! If anyone is holding anyone else back, he'll be holding me!"

Prussia smirked. "And I'm sure he'll be thrilled that you want that."

America blushed. "I didn't mean it like that!"

"Your soldiers are incompetent." The older nation continued with his rant. "The only one who seems even partially capable is that Washington fellow. This little revolution of yours is, simply put, a joke."

The blonde grabbed his jacked and slammed him into the nearest tree, causing the snow to fall around them.

"So what?! So what if we're not as organized as England? So what if we're on our own? So what if England has food and shoes and warmth? I'm not going to lose to him! None of us are giving up without fighting to the death. I want my independence damnit!" He let go of Prussia and backed away a few steps. "Who asked you anyway? If you won't help, then fine. Leave. We'll get by without you."

"No you won't." Prussia dusted the snow off his uniform. "You need military discipline, and I'm the best chance your 'troops' have at getting it."

"Why do even care?" America looked at him through his bangs. "If you think there's no way we can beat England, why bother helping us?"

"Let me rephrase: in your current state, you can't win." He circled the other nation as he talked, "Ever since he defeated Spain, England's been, well, annoying. Maybe I want to take him down a notch. Maybe I think you have a fighting chance, a slim one, but one all the same, if you get everything in order. Maybe I actually support you're ideals, because let's be honest, that is all you have right now." He ended up in front of America as blue eyes met red. "Whatever my reasoning, I'm here, and I'm not leaving until your troops can actually win."

America looked shocked, even more so when Prussia handed him a musket.

"Prove to me your ideals are worth something, America. Show me what you got."

* * *

Prussia and little Germany were walking through the countryside. Suddenly, Germany stopped and looked up at the sky.

"What's wrong?" The older nation asked when he turned around to see why his brother was lagging behind.

He stood there silently, just looking up at the sky, so, being a responsible older brother, he started walking over to him. Suddenly his face broke out in a grin and he pointed upwards excitedly.

"Look Bruder! It's snowing!"

Prussia looked up and sure enough, he face was met by cold, white flakes.

"West, you've seen snow before…"

"But it's the first snow of the season." The red-eyed nation looked down at his brother's excited face. "There's always something special about the first snow."

He sighed and smiled at the small nation's childlike innocence. "You really are something…"

Before Germany had time to react, he scooped him into his arms and planted the younger nation firmly on his broad shoulders.

"You can watch the snow better from up there." He said as a way of explanation.

The blonde nation laughed and spent the rest of the walk catching the flakes on his tongue and playing with the snow that landed in his brother's hair. His laugh was infectious, and Prussia soon found himself smiling too.

The snow piled up quickly so when the white-haired nation stopped for a quick rest, Germany ran off to play in the snow for a bit.

He was just about to put the head on the snowman he'd been constructing when something cold hit him in the back of the head. The blonde turned around to find his brother laughing from behind a snow mound.

"No fair Bruder, I wasn't paying attention!"

"All's fair in war West! You can't call cheap shots on the field of battle!" He announced as he launched another snowball over his hastily constructed shelter. Germany dived behind his snowman and quickly assembled his artillery. He peaked out from behind his shield and scanned the surroundings for any sign of the tricky nation.

Suddenly he heard the snow crunching behind him. Germany turned quickly, but it was too late as he found himself with a face-full of snow and a manically laughing brother.

Quick to recover, the blonde hurtled himself at Prussia's legs, knocking him over and pegging him in the face with a ball of snow before launching a tactical retreat behind the snowman once again.

"Oh, it is so on." Prussia stated as he created another snowball and went to chase down his brother.

The fight went on until sunset when both Germans collapsed into the snow, cold yet utterly satisfied.

"Bruder?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we play like this tomorrow too?"

Prussia smiled at his little brother and tousled his hair. "Sure, but I'm just gonna kick your ass then too."

Germany stuck out his tongue. "As if! I was clearly the winner here!"

They bickered playfully the rest of the way home.

* * *

Prussia was out walking in the garden, if it could even be called a garden if nothing green could grow, in Russia's backyard. The snow was falling, depressing the German further.

"What's with all the damn snow?" He asked aloud.

"It's always been here," he heard a voice answer and shuddered involuntarily. "It…has a certain beauty to it though, right?" Russia turned to face him, smile plastered on his face.

"If you like that sort of thing…" the red-eyed nation muttered. He tensed when he felt large arms wrap around him.

"What's wrong Prussia? You never talk to me anymore…"

"What did you expect? You built that wall and cut me off from everyone."

"So you should talk to me _more_, not less." The hug tightened. "Why would you want to hang out with Capitalist pigs anyway?"

"That's my _brother_ you're talking about…"

"More like your brother's new friends, right? Don't worry about him. You'll see him again once everyone becomes one with me."

"Maybe I don't want him to become one with you." He pushed his way out of Russia's arms and stalked off farther into the garden. Russia followed.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked after a while.

"I just…" Prussia cut himself off and sighed. "I miss the color green. I'm sick of vodka. I want to go back to Germany."

"But our family's here."

"What family?!" The former empire finally snapped as he turned to face the bigger nation. "Just because you keep us all in the same house? None of us are even close to being related! Except Czech and Slovakia, but the rest of us barely even like each other! What kind of family is that? West is my only family, and Hungary may not be married to him anymore, but she still loves Austria, yet you're keeping us away from them just so you can live out this sick pseudo fantasy of yours! And-" he was cut off when Russia whacked his head with his water pipe, sending him falling to the ground. Another hit came to his ribs, just for good measure.

The superpower roughly tapped the pipe against his head. "There is a reason you barely exist anymore, Prussia. You had your time on top and you lost it." The beaten nation looked up and red eyes locked with violet ones. "I suggest you learn your place in this new world."

The staring contest continued until Prussia was forced to look away. "You understand then?" Slowly, the white-haired nation nodded. "Good. Now let's get you cleaned up." He pulled the other nation to his feet and led him back to the house. "Your head is bleeding and we wouldn't want you to get sick now."

Prussia could only nod and follow.

* * *

The snow was falling all around him as Prussia ran up the steps and hammered on the front door. He shivered while Canada took his time opening the door.

"It's nowhere near breakfast time…" the shy blonde pointed out.

The albino looked appalled. "What makes you think I'm only over here for pancakes?" Canada gave him t hat look that always made the former nation squirm. "That may be a very good secondary reason, but my primary reason is definitely because you need more awesome in your life."

"Wait here." He shut the door on his friend. A few moments later, the North American nation reemerged in full winter gear carrying two plates of pancakes and a bottle of maple syrup.

"We're eating out here?"

"I've been cooped up in a room with America and England all morning. I'd like to get outside for a bit, if you don't mind, that is."

"Not at all." He plopped down on the snow-covered porch, sending the white stuff flying everywhere, and extended his hands for the plate. Canada laughed and handed it to him before sitting down next to him.

They ate in relative silence, save for Prussia's exclamations of how the pancakes were almost as awesome as he was. When they were done, Canada put their plates to the side as Prussia leaned back to watch the snow fall on his face.

The blonde cleaned off his glasses and caught sight of his friend's rarely seen serene face.

"What are you thinking about?" He eventually asked.

"Just…remembering."


	6. What's in a Name?

**I spent the better part of last night reading random stories where America proposes to England or vice versa and eventually I wondered what they would call themselves if they ever did get married. This is the result of that. Sorry for the weak ending and me failing at making England British.  
**

**Pairings: USUK**

**Warnings: Crack. Pure crack.**

**And I don't own Hetalia.  
**

* * *

"The United Kingdom of Great Britain, North Ireland, and America. It makes the most sense." England said, slamming his fist against the table for emphasis.

"I say we just keep it the United States of America. That makes way more sense." America shrugged nonchalantly and sipped his soda.

"Where the bloody hell am I in all that?"

"Duh, you're a state."

A nearby book found its way to America's head.

"This is supposed to be an equal partnership! I'm not marrying you to become one of your idiotic states!"

"Well, I think we've already established that me and Kingdoms don't mix. At all."

They had been at it for hours, back and forth, back and forth. It's not that they didn't want to get married, they did love each other even if it wasn't showing right now, it was just that both nations liked their full names the way they were. Unfortunately a marriage between nations has certain procedures that must be adhered to or else the world would crumble, one of these procedures being the name change to signify unity.

"Stupid git, we are not calling ourselves the United States of Awesome!"

"Why not? It's an awesome name! You can tell because it's got the word awesome in it."

"It's ridiculous that's why!"

They glared at each other for a few minutes, neither one willing to back down. Finally America sighed and took a slurp from his soda.

"Why is this so difficult? I wonder if Austria and Hungry had this much trouble."

"They just went with Austria-Hungary Empire." England settled back down into his seat. "Things were…simpler back then I suppose."

"Can't we just do that?"

"You want to call ourselves the Austria-Hungary Empire?" he replied sarcastically.

"That's just silly England. Sheesh it'll be like they conquered us!" He waved off his partner's death glare. "No, we just call ourselves like, the American-English Empire. Except not empire, cause we don't do that anymore."

"English-American Kingdom?"

"I don't do kingdoms. How about the United States of America-England?"

"That's too much you and not enough me. You're 75% of the name."

"Well, I am a lot bigger than you…"

"That's got nothing to do with anything!" England sighed and rubbed his temples. "Maybe we should look at this differently. We both have 'united' in our names, so you agree we should have the word united in there somewhere?"

"Yeah, and we need the word America in there because it's awesome."

"Yes yes, as long as England is in there somewhere too. Or Great Britain."

"So, United America-England…States. Sounds good."

"Stop throwing in your states!"

"Stop throwing in your kingdom! I-"

"Yes, you don't do kingdoms. I get it." He sighed.

"Something's got to give though; I'm a collection of united states and you're a collection of united kingdoms or something."

"_So_ glad I fell in love with an idiot."

"We could just call it an Empire, even if it actually isn't. The United America-England Empire."

"Because everyone who has had an empire destroyed by us in the past will be _so thrilled_." England leaned across the table to flick the blonde on the head. "Think for once in you existence. And why can't it be the United England-American Empire?"

"Because my name has to be first." He scoffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"That's complete bollocks! If anything my name should be first since I'm older!"

"Fine, but then we're states."

"What?"

America sighed. "If your name comes first, then we will be called states. Like the United States of England-America or something."

"That's-"

"Too much me, not enough you. I know, I know." He leaned back and pulled out a hamburger from somewhere. "It's just an example."

"Fine." England blinked. "Did we just…compromise on something?"

"…I think we did."

"It's…weird."

"Very. So, how about the United States of Great Britain-America?"

"How's that any better than your bloody example?"

"Great Britain is two words, so you're in there more."

"Sometimes I wonder where I went wrong with you."

"Got it! The United Britannia-America Alliance of States!"

England responded by slamming his head to the table.

"Well Mr. I'm-Just-Going-To-Toss-Out-All-Of-America's-Brilliant-Ideas, do you have anything better?"

Green eyes stared America down, thinking, judging, calculating.

"The United States of Great Britain, North Ireland, and America."

"Why am I playing second fiddle to North Ireland? You're not marrying her…"

"The United States of Great Britain, America, and North Ireland."

"Why does she even have to be in there at all? We should just go with Britain-American States that are United."

"Don't be stupid. That's too wordy."

"The United British-American States with North Ireland."

"That sounds more like a bloody band name than a country."

"Does it really matter anyway? Everyone's still just going to call us 'America' and 'England.'"

"I've told you, our union needs a name!"

"Then let's just call ourselves the Untied British-American States and be done with it!"

"We can't just call ourselves…what was your newest train wreck?"

"The United British-American States."

"Yes we can't just call ourselves that!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's…well, it has certain…it just, you know…" England tapped his finger against his chin. "There's something wrong with it, I just can't think of what right now."

America grinned. "So, you think it's good?"

"I never said that, I just said I couldn't think of anything wrong with it at this moment. Give me some time and I will."

"But until then…"

"Yes, fine. Until then we can call ourselves the United British-American States."

"Yes! UBAS wins!" He ran to the other side of the table and scooped England up into a fierce kiss.

"I love you. You know that right?" he said when they finally broke apart.

England blushed and buried his face into the other's shoulder. "Stupid git…"


	7. Winter Wonderland

**This was for the USUK Special Relationship Livejournal Community's Sweetheart's Week, for Day 1's prompt**, **'Save the Date.' I'll put the other prompts up later when it's all done, but I wanted to get this up today.**

**Pairing: USUK**

**Warnings: None really, just some fail!British and no real point.  
**

**So yeah, enjoy.  
**

* * *

England was waiting at the designated meeting spot outside the White House, where he was supposed to meet up with America at 2:30. A quick look at his watch told him it was now 2:45, not that he was expecting him to be on time, for once, despite the fact that he was the one who _insisted_ that the other nation come and visit today of all days. February was a cold month, and England didn't care how close it was to Valentine's Day, he would still rather be inside, preferable by a warm fire with a cup of tea, instead of waiting outside in the cold…and now it was snowing. Brilliant.

"Hey England!" America shouted as he ran up. He stopped to catch his breath, huge grin plastered on his face. "I didn't think you would actually come."

"You asked me to. It would be rude not to, although I didn't expect to have been left standing in the bleeding snow for fifteen minutes."

"Sorry, sorry, got caught up in some things. But, you know, I've asked you to come before, and you never have…"

"Well, we weren't, you know, 'together' before…" England responded, face going a very interesting shade of red. Even if they had been going out for almost three months now, it stilled embarrassed him to admit it out loud.

America didn't seem to notice as he snatched England's hand and threaded their gloved fingers together. "Well whatever reason, thanks for coming."

The green-eyed nation blushed even deeper if that was possible at the sincerity in his partner's words. He covered it up with a cough and asked, "So, what do you have planned for us today?"

America's grin seemed to double in intensity. "Whatever you want."

"Pardon?"

"You've already seen everything hundreds of times, so I'm letting you pick today."

"Really? You won't complain? Even if I want to stay at a museum the whole time?"

"Well I never said I wouldn't complain…" he got a punch in the shoulder for that. "Alright, I won't complain…much. Anyway, we're wasting daylight! Pick pick pick!"

"Impatient git…" England smiled, "Well, I haven't eaten yet…"

"Awesome! There's a McDonalds right around-"

"I was thinking not fast food."

"You know you love it."

"My choice remember? Where can we go around here to get real food?"

The blue-eyed nation pouted, but perked up again almost immediately. "There is this new place just down the street we could try."

"Sounds lovely," England grinned back as the two of them made their way down the street hand in hand.

* * *

The new place turned out to be a small café that happened to serve England's favorite blend of tea (even if it was better back home) as well as provided coffee for America. Since it was quite an anomaly for both of them to like the same place, England decided to put it on his mental list of 'Place I Can Enjoy with America,' which now consisted of this café, a restaurant in Vancouver that Canada recommended for them, and that little place near Venice. The waitress that served them was also very friendly (apparently she had a thing for accents) and somehow managed to slip her number into England's pocket without him noticing until he was half-way down the street. America found this amusing, and made it a point to laugh quite loudly at him when he blushed and crumpled the small paper up.

"Aw, you're going to break her heart," the blonde got out between chuckles.

"You want me to call her then?" America stopped chuckling immediately. England smirked as he smoothed the paper again and stared at it as if he was seriously contemplating calling her. "She was a cute girl after all, and did appreciate a good pot of tea."

"She was just flirting. Any idiot could see that," he snatched the paper from his lover's hand and chucked it in the nearby garbage. "Besides, you're mine," he grinned and grabbed the green-eyed nation's hand.

"Don't say it like I don't have a choice in the matter…"

"Oh, you don't," he brought England's gloved knuckles to his lips and kissed them lightly. "But, you don't mind, right?"

"No…I suppose not," the Britain blushed, "because that means you're mine too."

"Of course!" America beamed, causing him to blush even more. "Now, since we're fed and all that, where would you like to go?"

"I'm still picking?" England raised an eyebrow, causing the blue-eyed nation to nod enthusiastically. He shivered and looked around for some place to duck inside of and escape the snow.

"Well, what about Ford's Theater?" he asked, nodded to the nearby building.

"Eh…not there."

"Why not?" England tried to make eye contact, but America turned his head away.

"Um…just not there…not today…anything else is good."

After trying and failing to meet the other nation's eyes, England sighed and said, "Well, I don't really care where we go or what we do at this point, I just want to get out of the bloody snow."

America instantly perked up. "I know just the thing to warm you up."

* * *

"When you mentioned warming up," England complained, still shivering, "I assumed we would be going back inside, you know, away from the cold and the snow _which is still falling_!"

"Why would you want to go inside when there's all this wonderful snow to play in?" America asked in all seriousness.

"Because it's bloody cold! And wet!"

"Don't be such a party pooper," the blonde said as he stepped out onto the Reflecting Pool, which had completely frozen over due to the cold. He frantically waved his arms for a few seconds before he found his balance and slide across the ice. "C'mon, it's fun! And if you don't move around you really will freeze!"

"Tosser's having too much fun with this…" England muttered before shouting, "I thought I was supposed to pick what we were doing!"

"Wuzzat? Sounds like you're complaining!" America mocked, "I think someone is just afraid of falling all over the place because he has two left feet!"

"I can out skate you any day of the week, even if we don't have skates! I'm just…wondering if this is even legal…"

"What are they going to do?" he asked, sliding to a stop in front of the other blonde, "Throw us in jail?"

"I don't know…some of the people in your government…"

"Relax, it's cool. They won't care," America held out is hand, "And I won't let you fall."

"I don't _need_ your help…" England complained, taking the offered hand anyway.

"I know," he grinned his maniac grin as he slowly brought them both onto the ice, "but hero's just don't let their damsels fall, no matter what."

"I am most certainly _not_ your damsel…"

"You're sleeping with a hero. That makes you a damsel." That received a punch in the shoulder, which unfortunately for England sent him off balance and sent him falling down. Fortunately for his head, America did manage to catch him before he actually hit the ice.

"Told ya I wouldn't let'cha fall."

He pulled the other nation to his feet before grabbing his hand and his waist and sliding them around as if they were dancing.

"There's no music around…" England noted as he reached up and grabbed his lover's shoulder.

"Who needs music? We're doing fine on our own." Which was true enough; at least they hadn't fallen down yet.

After a while America let go of his hand in favor of putting both arms around the other, bringing him in closer. England used this opportunity to wrap his arms around the younger nation's neck and burry his face into his shoulder.

"You warm yet?"

"Very."

They ended up staying on the Reflecting Pool until well after the sun set.

* * *

Eventually they were kicked off of the Reflecting Pool, so the two nations had proceeded to walk around it instead, hand in hand. They came to a stop in front of the Lincoln Memorial.

"You want to go in?" England asked.

"I…you pick. You're picking what we do today."

"You've actually decided everything we've done today," he sighed, "but I suppose that's just the way it is with you isn't it? Let's go."

"We don't have to if you don't want-" he was silenced by a gloved finger on his lips.

"It's clearly important to you, or else you wouldn't keep asking me out here. Let's just go."

America grinned and kissed the finger before grabbing his lover's hand and running up the steps into the memorial itself.

Once inside England leaned against one of the pillars, happy to finally be out of the snow, while America walked up to the statue itself.

"Happy birthday big guy," he muttered, looking up reverently at the statue.

"I don't understand why you build these things," England asked, looking around. "It seems a bit much."

"I don't have monarchs, so I don't need castles. What else am I going to build?"

"You're just jealous…" he muttered. "You know, you don't have to invite me over every time you have a useless holiday."

"It's not useless! Don't you shut everything down when your queen has a birthday?"

"That's completely different! You wouldn't understand."

"Hey you're right!" he walked over to the older nation and tugged him into a hug. "You had fun though, right?"

"It…wasn't completely unenjoyable, I suppose." England felt the other nation kiss the top of his head as he burrowed further into the warmth his lover provided.

"You know," America said offhandedly, "Washington's birthday is the twenty second…"

"That's after Valentine's Day,"

"Yeah, a bit, I guess."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" A tight squeeze seemed to be all the answer the blue-eyed nation was going to give.

"I suppose," England responded, fingers slowly making their way up around America's neck, "I might be to move some things around…"

"So that's a 'Why yes America, I'd love to come! You're just too hot and dreamy…how could I resist?'"

"More like a 'Maybe, if only to keep you from bugging me about it from now until next February.' And when did I become your bloody fangirl?"

"Since you finally said yes," he pulled back before England could protest that and kissed his forehead. "Love you. You know that right?"

The Britain rolled his eyes before leaning up to kiss the American. "I love you too, git."

That's all America wanted to hear.


	8. 10 Days UK Wasn't Thinking About US

**No, this isn't a day late. I totally wrote this for the last day of ****Lupercalia. ****What is this Valentine's Day of which you speak?**

******...Not buying it huh?**

******This was written for the USUK Special Relationship's Sweetheart's Week's last prompt: Valentine's Day. I'm going out of order with the prompts, because I wanted to get this one up as close to Valentine's as possible and didn't feel like waiting the extra year.**

******Enjoy.  
**

* * *

"What's Valentine's Day?" the young colony asked.

"It's a day for love," England answered.

"Well how do you celebrate it?"

"You just…spend time with the people you love. Give them gifts, show them you care, things like that."

"Oh," America looked away and glanced around the field they were sitting in. After a few minutes of silence, he got up and wandered off. England was keeping a close eye on him though…a very…close…

England awoke several hours later thanks to America poking his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, England."

"Hm? What did you break?"

The young colony shook his head. "I wanted to get you something so you could be my valentine…but nothing grows in the winter…"  
"You don't need to get me anything, America,"

"But you brought me that chocolate and it tasted really good and I didn't even share and I really just want you to be my valentine and-"

The older nation silenced his babbling with a hug. "You don't need to get me anything…this is enough. Of course I'll be your valentine."

"Forever and ever?"

"And for ever after that."

* * *

It wasn't the best way to spend Valentine's Day, alone in a tent in the middle of a war, drinking the night away, but England felt that the news that France of all people was now helping his Little America stab him in the back was a valid enough excuse.

"Stupid France…stupid America…stupid war…stupid holiday…who needs love? I'm the fucking British Empire. I didn't get there thanks love…such a ridiculous concept…people can only hurt one another, you know! Happiness is just an illusion!" he shouted to no one in particular.

As he tilted back the rum bottle to take another sip, he came to the unfortunate discovery that the bottle was empty. Sigh dejectedly and muttering about the cruelty of life, he staggered over to the other side of the tent and rummaged through the supplies, stopping and pulling out a box of chocolates. A few had been accidentally sent over with the last shipment, so England handed them out to the soldiers as a sort of treat to try and help boost morale a little, and ended up having one box left over.

He contemplated the box a bit more. "These are his favorite…"

Deciding to just pass it off as a drunken mistake later, he quickly wrapped the box in whatever he found lying around and scribbled America's name on it.

"Where was he staying for the winter? Well, I'm sure my magical friends can find him wherever he is…"

-

"Um, excuse me sirs?" The four men looked up at the private who stood awkwardly in the doorway, holding a package in his hands, "I was told there was an Alfred F. Jones in here?"

"That's me," America said, "What is it?"

The private was confused as to why such a young man was in a strategy meeting with General Washington, General Lafayette and some other Frenchman whose name he couldn't quite remember, but did his best not to show it. "I have a package for you."

"From who?" the blonde asked, taking it from him and examining it carefully.

"Well, it doesn't say sir. It just showed kinda showed up."

"Thank you private. That will be all." Washington said. The private gave a quick salute before exiting the hut.

"What is it?" France asked as America ripped open the packaging.

"Chocolates," He stated.

"Chocolates?" the others asked in unison.

"Chocolates. I wonder who sent them."

"_Happy Valentine's Day, git. I hope you freeze your arse off,"_ France read from a note that fell out of the box. "I'm going to hazard a guess and say England."

They all stared at the candy a bit more before America plucked one out of its wrappings and popped it in his mouth.

"_Sacrebleu_, are you crazy?!" Lafayette shouted. "Those could be poisoned!"

"England would play dirty like that," France agreed.

"No, there good, delicious in fact. Quite possible he stole them from you guys…want some?" Everyone else shook their heads and continued on with the meeting as if nothing occurred.

* * *

It was his first Valentine's since he found the tosser that he wasn't with him.

Well, technically there were the ones during the war, so it was more accurately the first Valentine's he spent in England without America waiting for him.

It was still quite depressing though.

He sat at his desk, watching the rain pitter patter against the window, when a knock on the door called his attention.

"What is it?" he barked.

"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Kirkland, but you have a package," one of the assistants said as he sheepishly entered the room.

"Just put it on my desk and get out." He did just that and left the room as if his life depended on it.

England sighed as he opened the package, surely just some stupid prank from France judging by the rose that was attached to it, only to be shocked to find a box of chocolates.

"Who…France wouldn't waste chocolates on me…" he then noticed the note taped on the top and quickly ripped it off and read it.

_No matter what, you'll always be my Valentine. _

England stared at the note, knowing instantly who sent them and why he hadn't signed it. After a brief inner debate, the blonde picked up one of the chocolates and turned back to face the window.

Today wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

He sighed and rubbed his face, still as unnerved by his missing glasses since the first day he discovered them missing. War had a tendency to suck, but when you were fighting against, well, yourself, it tended to suck that much more.

"I'm so tired…" he complained to no one in particular.

"Of course you're tired," an English voice behind him responded, "you're in a middle of a Civil War. What did you think was going to happen, an economic boom?"

"I thought you were neutral."

"I am," England sat down next to the war-torn nation, who was refusing to look at him.

"Confederacy was talking to me and France the other day. Promised me trading rights and some of the colonies back. Not sure what he offered the frog."

"The Louisiana Purchase was big. He doesn't need all of it."

"Not very smart though, trying to talk to both of us. If one does decide to aid him, then the other will be just as quick to help you."  
"Guess I got the brains then."

"Not that there was much to inherit. You've always been an idiot." The blue-eyed nation turned even further away from England. "You haven't asked for my help yet, Union."

He winced at the name. "I don't need your help. This is my problem, so I'm going to deal with it by myself."

"You're sounding just like your old self." When the younger nation still refused to look at him, England took matters into his own hands by getting up and walking in front of him.

"The two of you are causing quite a lot of problems for me too you know."

"Well I'm ever so sorry that Confederacy keeps interrupting your afternoon tea!"

"Not like that. It's just…I don't know who to send the chocolates too."

"What?"

"I've been sending America chocolates for years, but now there's two of you, and neither of you are, you know, him."

"Yeah I kinda figured that out when he, you know, left me."

"That's the thing; do I send them to you? Do I send them to him? What if I send them to you and you lose and he finds out, but what if the reverse happens? See the diplomatic pickle you've put me in?"

"Poor you. Why don't you just go back to your united country and come to the conclusion that you can just send it to us both."

"I'm not springing for another box just because you're split."

He finally looked him in the eyes. "Why are you here, England?"

"You sent me chocolates this year."

"I always send you chocolates."

"He didn't send me any."

"Good for him. Why don't you go-" a box shoved into his face ended his statement abruptly. "You're…giving me chocolates?"

"For obvious reasons I'd rather you didn't let Confederacy find out," England blushed as he shuffled his feet, "and you better not lose this thing and make me look stupid."

He didn't say anything, just kept staring open mouth at the box of chocolates in his hand. England took advantage of the silence and wrapped his arms around the tired nation in a tight hug.

"Don't worry Union. All wars have to end sometime. It'll be alright in the end, you'll see."

Union put the box down and wrapped his arms around England, cried in his shoulder and whispered an almost inaudible, "Thank you."

* * *

"Happy Valentine's Day England!" America said as he held up the card he had made for him. "I'd get you some chocolates, but they're a bit hard to come by here."

"Don't waste our supplies useless gestures! There's nothing 'happy' about today!" He shouted over a grenade that exploded a few feet away from where they were in the trench.

"Just trying to lighten the mood. You and France have been real downers lately."

"I wonder why? Oh, maybe it's because we're caught in the middle of this endless war that's going on just over there!"

"This is why you should try to look on the bright side, and appreciate things like Valentine's Day all the more."

England just glared at him. "You just got here…"

"I've been here for almost a year now. You can't keep pulling that on me forever."

"We've been in these trenches since 1914, gaining centimeters every few months and being happy about it. You just got here and you're people are safe and warm and happy on the other side of the ocean. You have no right to say anything."

"I'm sorry I can't get you chocolates. Is that why you're so snippy?"

"I swear, if I didn't desperately need your help…"

"So I'll just get you something else to make up for it. That'll work right?" His smile brightened the trench just a bit and caused England to lose his train of thought.

"Pardon?"

"Yeah, what do you want England? Besides chocolates, because I can't get those."

"It has to be something you can get? Well I guess the end of the war is out then…"

"No, I can do that. Is that what you want?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I would like the war to end."

"Okay then, as my Valentine's Day gift to you, my valentine, I'll end this war before the year is out."

"You can't…just…d-don't make promises you can't keep…"

"Who said I couldn't keep it?" America took his hand and brought it to his lips, "It's a promise, so it'll definitely happen. No worries."

England blushed, muttered "Idiot" under his breath, and turned away, but let America keep holding his hand.

He thinks he might know why his girls keep throwing themselves at America's boys.

* * *

England stared at the phone, contemplating whether or not to pick the damn thing up and use it. Yes, the economic depression was hitting both of them right now, and he hadn't sent his chocolates, but it was still disappointing to not get anything. After all, he had the fairies send America some flowers instead.

Just as he was about to reach for the phone, a sharp knock on the door rang out, causing England to jump and say, "Come in."

"This just came for you, Mr. Kirkland," an assistant said as he dropped an envelope on his desk before leaving without another word.

England curiously opened the envelope only to have a bunch of pictures and a letter fall out. Being a reasonable man, he read the letter first.

_Sorry I couldn't get you chocolates, but I'm out of money right now. I'd send these to you, but they'd be dead by the time they got there, and that's just depressing. I'll take care of them for you and you can pick them up next time you drop by._

He folded the letter neatly and placed it inside his desk before turning his attention to the pictures. After selecting one at random, England saw that it was a picture of America, standing near the edge of a forest somewhere, holding a rose, smile lighting up the picture, even in black and white. The other pictures revealed more of the same, except in different locations every time, and one at the very bottom of the pile of a vase of roses sitting on America's kitchen table.

England was rather shocked that his valentine had managed to find one wild rose in the middle of winter, let alone a dozen, but photos didn't lie. He looked at a few of them again and noticed that America's clothes were ripped in some of the shots and he had scratches on his face in others. Idiot must have gone through a lot to get those for him.

He reached over and picked up the phone without hesitation. He had a gift to pick up after all.

* * *

Ever since America decided to help out, England had seen more than enough of him then he could handle. Even so, despite the war in the Pacific getting even more intense, America felt it was necessary to attach himself to England's side today. China saying he could handle himself until the fifteenth with that all knowing look in his eyes didn't help matters at all.

"You don't have to spend all day with me; we see each other enough as it is!"

"But I want to," he actually whined.

"Did you ever think that maybe I don't want you here?"

"Don't be like that. Here," he handed him a box of chocolates, complete with a red ribbon and matching rose. "I took them from Switzerland because I didn't have time to go home."

"He just let you take them?"

"Well, he shot at me a bit, but I got away, so it's all good."

"Since you're here and all…" England grabbed his box of chocolates for America from the nearby table, "Since you made a big fuss about it last year and all…you don't really need it though, considering the rest of the Allies already gave you some…"

"But yours is always my favorite," he claimed, snatching the box from England's fingers and devouring half of it in one go.

"So now that you have your chocolate, will you leave me alone?"

"Nope," England groaned. "I'm going back to the Pacific tomorrow and, well…Germany's really strong, you know…"

"America, I am capable of taking care of myself."

"I know, I just…can't help but think that this'll be the last time I see you. It's stupid, but…"

England leaned forward and kissed the other nation's forehead, effectively ending his babbling.

"It's sweet of you to worry, but I'll still be your valentine for many more years. Just try and let Germany or Japan stop that."

* * *

America came home late, as usually these days, dumped his jacked and briefcase by the front door, and headed upstairs without bothering with the lights.

Russia was being difficult as usually, spreading his communistic thoughts and ideas throughout the world, and it was a real pain trying to stop him. He didn't mind doing it of course, because he was a hero and that's what they do, but it still didn't stop him from coming home every night completely wiped out.

He kicked off his shoes as soon as he got into his bedroom and flopped on the bed without even bothering to change out of his work clothes and prepared to go off to sleep when he felt something hard and leafy by his hand. Further inspection found them to be a dozen roses and a box of his absolute favorite chocolates. America had been a bit busy with Russia, so he was only able to send out England's chocolates a few days ago and pray that they got there on time, but finding flowers and candy on his bed after a long day still warmed his heart. He'd have to call his valentine in the morning…

With that thought, the superpower drifted off into the most peaceful sleep he'd had in quite some time.

* * *

England was worried about America. The fact that he was admitting he was worried should say just how bad the situation was.

Ever since the attack back in September, America hadn't let up on his thoughts and plans for revenge, even for Christmas and New Year's. Usually England wouldn't care that much since it wasn't really his problem, but now…

"I'm sorry I didn't get your chocolates England. I've just been so busy lately, you know."

"Yes, I understand, but don't you think you should take a step away from work for a bit? I did come all the way out here to see you."  
"I'm busy right now though…"

"That's it," England grabbed his wrist and dragged him away from his desk and out onto the street. "As your valentine, I'm using my valentine rights to get your arse outside."

"There's no such thing as valentine rights," America pointed out, but didn't try to take his wrist back.

"Well, maybe there should be. You need to take a break sometimes and just enjoy life every now and then…"

"You're starting to sound like me."

"One of us has too."

"Thanks for caring."

"...Anytime."

* * *

"Hey! Hey England! Hey!" America screamed as he started banging on the door. England flung the door open a few moments later.

"What? What could you possibly want from me?"

"Happy Valentine's Day!" He smiled his thousand watt smile and presented his valentine with his chocolates.

"Oh, is it that time of year already? It seems to have slipped my mind…"

"Wha? You didn't get me chocolates?" The younger nation looked away dejectedly, causing England to smirk.

"What do you think?"

"You got me chocolates! I'm your valentine, right? And that's what you do for valentines."

"Am I really still your valentine? It's been a while you know..."

"Of course you're my valentine! You're mine forever and ever, and we're still in the middle of forever right now," America looked away and actually blushed, "um…I'm still your valentine, right?"

"Hm?" England pretended to think about it while studying a fingernail. "Well, I guess, but I'll have you know I can do so much better than a burger munching wanker like yourself." He stepped back to let America enter his house.

"And I've already had about a million offers this past week, just so you know." On his way in, the blonde swooped down and landed a kiss on his valentine's lips.

"Happy Valentine's Day to you too, by the way."


	9. British Invasion

**This was for the USUK Community on Livejournal's Sweetheart's Week. The second prompt was 'Fish and Chips,' or anything having to do with English culture.**

**The song is 'London Calling' by The Clash, btw. I don't own it or the characters.  
**

* * *

America strode up to England's quaint little country house, full expecting to be hammering on the door for hours and hours waiting for the other to reluctantly open his door, let him in, make him some bad scones and tea, and just hang out with him for the rest of the day.

What he didn't expect was for the door to be slightly ajar when he got there and for all of the lights in the house to be out. The mess on the other side of the door was also unexpected.

Gun drawn with the safety turned off, America kicked the door the rest of the way open, ready to face whatever or whoever had caused this. Instead he found the mess to not only be in the hallway, but all over the house. The mess mostly looked like a raid of England's attic, as it mostly consisted of all of his old mementos scattered throughout the place. Putting his gun away, America also noticed a song playing from somewhere upstairs.

_London calling to the faraway towns_

_Now war is declared, and battle come down_

_London calling to the underworld_

_Come out of the cupboard, you boys and girls._

"He's just been drinking again," the blonde sighed, "and he had me worried there for a moment." He looked around at the mess that littered the floors. "He's not going to be pleasant when he realizes the mess he's made…" And so America set off to clean up England's house for a change.

Starting from the hallway, he picked up various armor parts, shields, swords, and a few stray arrows (all from the Middle Ages) lying around. The longbow that he knew England still had around was missing.

"I don't want to know…"

_London calling, now don't look to us_

_Phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust_

_London calling, see we ain't got no swing_

'_Cept for the ring of the truncheon thing_

"Speaking of Beatlemania…" the young nation had now made his way to the kitchen after dumping the hallway stuff in a nearby closet to find the table covered with old records. America could easily recognize The Beatles in the piles as well as a few others such as The Who, but there were others that he had never even heard before. He quickly grabbed the stacks and brought them to the living room to put back in their proper place.

_The Ice Age is coming, the sun's zooming in_

_Meltdown expected, the wheat is growing thin_

_Engines stop running, but I have no fear_

'_Cause London is drowning and I, live by the river_

Scattered across the living room covering just about every surface were books. Shakespeare had claimed the couch, love seat, and armchair while Jane Austen monopolized the center table. All seven _Harry Potter _books including the _Tales of Beedle the Bard _were spread out over the floor while the seven _Chronicles of Narnia_ hung about on the lighting. Tolkien seemed to have claimed a corner all to himself, not to mention all of the other various books that were, well, everywhere.

America sighed, "He better be grateful for all this…" and set about picking up all the books.

_London calling, to the imitation zone_

_Forget brother, you can go it alone!_

_London calling, to the zombies of death_

_Quit holding out, and draw another breath_

Making his way up the stairs, the young nation stopped to pick up the various uniforms that were tossed here and there, as if their owner couldn't decide which one to wear. America picked up the infamous red coat that he himself had worn as well once upon a time as well as the old World War I and World War II uniforms, the outfit he had seen the police around London wear, the Buckingham Palace Guard uniform, and for some reason, a pirate outfit and a toga. He unceremoniously dumped them all on top of each other inside the closet at the top of the stairs.

_London calling, and I don't wanna shout_

_But while we were talking, I saw you nodding out_

_London calling, see we ain't got no high_

_Except for the one with the yellowy eye_

The music was much louder on this floor, and (unsurprisingly) came from the master bedroom. America decided to duck into the spare bedroom before confronting a drunken England.

It was a good thing too, because this room was in soccer balls (but if England were with him right now, he'd yell at him and call them footballs, which was ridiculous, as these were definitely not made out of pigskin), cricket bats, rugby balls, and jerseys. So many jerseys from so many different teams, one from every English sports team that ever existed ever (as America could even make out some very old flag-like things that he assumed were from old jousting tournaments), all of them covered with mud.

"Does he ever do laundry?" The blue-eyed nation asked as he gathered all the jerseys and dumped them in the closet, hesitating over an autographed David Beckham jersey before deciding to just toss that in their too (he had the real thing anyway). The sports equipment he just piled in the corner and hoped it wouldn't collapse.

_The Ice Age is coming, the sun's zooming in_

_Engines stop running, the wheat is growing thin_

_A nuclear era, but I have no fear_

'_Cause London is drowning and I, I live by the river_

America slowly made his way into England's room, opening the door a crack to see if he could prepare himself for what lay beyond.

England was standing on his bed, drunk as a skunk as had been predicted, wearing tight leather pants, a studded belt, a shirt that looked like it was made out of the nation's Union Jack, studded earrings, and…was that mascara? Currently he was in the middle of an epic air guitar solo.

"_The Ice Age is coming, the sun's zooming in_

_Engines stop running, the wheat is growing thin_

_A nuclear era, but I have no fear_

'_Cause London is drowning and I, I live by the river!" _

He sang out, slurring it slightly, before tripping and collapsing on the bed. America took this opportunity to enter the room.

"C'mon England, up we go," he said, helping the other nation to his feet.

"Oh, America, didn' see ya there…" the green-eyed nation hiccupped before grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the center of the room.

"England…what are you doing?"

"C'mon ya tosser, we both know ya know the words…" He proceeded to dance around while singing the next part, _"Now get this,_

"_London calling, yes, I was there too,_

_And you know what they said, well some of it was true!"_

"_London calling," _America joined in, making his way towards England _"at the top of the dial,_

_And after all this, won't you give me a smile?"_

England did indeed smile for him before singing the last, _"London calling,"_

He tripped again though, and this time America was able to catch him before he hit the ground.

"_I never felt so much alike, like-a, like-a…" _

With that out of the way, England went on to pass out in the other nation's arms.

America sighed (why couldn't he ever have any normal visits to England's house?), before carrying him over to the bed and laying him down. In an afterthought, he also removed the belt and earrings so they wouldn't irritate him in the morning.

He left the room, stopping at the doorway with his hand on the light switch to look back at the sleeping nation. England had turned over on his side, muttering something he couldn't hear, and settled into a peaceful slumber.

"Sleep well old man," America said before turning off the light and exiting the room. He would need it too; that was going to be one hell of a hangover in the morning.


	10. Of Statues and Motives

**For the USUK Livejournal Community's Sweethearts Weekend. Fifth prompt: Burgers and Fries, aka Anything having to do with American Culture.**

**The last two fics I wrote for the third and fourth prompts I'll probably end up keeping them separate, as they are kinda long. **

**Enjoy.  
**

* * *

"I don't like it," England said, crossing his arms and glaring at the statue.

"Why not?" America asked, following his gaze.

"It's French. Why would you keep a French statue here for all these years?"

"Well, it's beautiful, it was a gift, and now it's kinda an icon. I can't get rid of it now."

"Hmph."

"Why are you brining this up now anyway? It's been over a hundred years since I got it."

"Nothing, it's just pissing me off. I don't see why you need it anymore."

"What do you mean? What else are terrorists going to blow up in action movies? You've got Big Ben, France has the Eiffel Tower, Egypt has those pyramids…how else are you supposed to know you're in America?"

"It's unnecessary is all I'm saying. It's served its usefulness already, so you can just put it away in the desert now."

"I think someone's jealous France didn't get anything for them for their hundredth birthday…"

"Like I'd want anything from that frog desecrating my landscape!"

"Now that I think about it…did you even get me anything for my hundredth birthday?"

"…well it's not like you got me anything for my hundredth either…"

"I don't even know when your birthday is, and I don't think I was around for your hundredth."

"That's not the point! The world doesn't revolve around you, your birthday, and your stupid statue you know!"

"…Seriously, what's your beef with the statue?"

"I don't…I just…don't like what it represents…"

"Freedom? Liberty? A better life for everyone? Equal opportunities? Me?"

"No, not that…it's just…it's French…"

"So? France and I are friends…were friends…may still be friends…it's complicated, but we were friends when he gave me the statue."

"Exactly, it's a symbol of your friendship with France, and I don't like France."

"Oh, you're just jealous."

"I am not jealous! I just think it's unfair that you flaunt France's friendship bracelet like that!"

"You are jealous! You know, if you every actually gave me a birthday present, I'd flaunt that too. You know you mean more to me than France does."

"..."

"You don't believe me?"

"Where would you put it?"

"Put what?"

"My statue. Where would you put my statue if I gave one to you?"

"New England."

"Pardon?"

"Yeah, somewhere in New England, because you know, you're England. Boston maybe."

"So France gets your biggest city and I'm stuck up in New England?"

"Well, he did give me a statue first."

"I thought I meant more to you…"

"I can't move the statue now. I would, for you, if I could, but I'm pretty sure it's stuck there now."

"If you really loved me you would."

"Are you listening to yourself?"

"…Sorry, I just don't trust France's gifts. I still think he was just trying to get into your pants…"

"Oh, he was."

"You tell me this now?!"

"But, I was too madly in love with you to pay him much mind, so I just took the statue."

"…Git. Iloveyoutoo."


	11. Stop Sinking My Battleship!

**I've been hanging out on the kink meme lately, so I'm going to deanon a few things here.**

**Prompt: _I'd like to see...England being the one completely drunk and SOMEHOW beating whoever else he's playing Risk against._  
**

* * *

"So, so guys, guys…what are we playing?"

"Ug, France, why did you invite England?"

"You know I never invite him, Spain, he always just shows up on his own."

"We should invite China too…"

"_Non_, we agreed after last time China and America take this game too seriously…"

"Besides Russia, we already have six players."

"Since when are we counting England?"

"Are those cards? *hic* You know I love Yahtzee."

"He's drunk too! You said there was no alcohol!"

"I just said there wasn't any for _you_, Denmark."

"Let's start already so I can make you all kneel before my awesome!"

"But what about England?"

"Just another loser to be tossed aside in my conquest. He'll be easy to take down now that he's drunk, so you can use this as revenge for your Armada."

"…I agree with Prussia, let's start."

"Alright! *hic* Where's my queen?"

"This is Risk, _Angleterre_. I'm dealing out your cards now…"

"Sweet! I got Australia and the Philippines on the draw!"

"That's not fair Denmark! That was my card!"

"Shut up Prussia, you still have half of Europe already…including me and England."

"Cheer up Spain; everyone will become one with Russia in the end…"

"What's wrong _Angleterre?_ Not so cocky now that you're split up across the globe?"

"Yeah, that's probably the worst draw I've ever seen for this game."

"*Hic* Just shut up and deal the cards! I'm a master at Rummy!"

"We're playing Risk, stupid. I'm going first, because I'm awesome like that, and I'm invading the Philippines."

"Just because I get a lucky hand…"

"This game is all about skill! Now roll the dice!"

"…"

"Sweet! Welcome to the new German Empire. I'll end here."

"Alright, England's turn!"

"B-6."

"We're playing Risk…"

"I'll attack France."

"You're not even in Europe, _mon ami_."

"Never stopped me before. *hic* What about that…not America guy that speaks French? Is he here?"

"Well you do have Alaska, but you only have two armies there…"

"He already made his choice."

"You just want Alaska for yourself, Russia."

"Just shut up and bloody fight me wankers!"

"Where did you get that cutlass?

"Says the guy who walks around with an axe. Anyway, that's Spain's territory."

"…"

"Yes! King me!"

"We're playing Risk…how did he take all of Canada in one turn?"

"Just a lucky shot, _mon ami_. My turn and I'm invading Russia."

"Because that worked _so well_ before…"

"It's okay Denmark; I don't mind seeing France lose to me again…"

"…"

"Damn it_._"

"Told you…"

"Just go Russia."

"Um…I'll attack Alaska."

"_Angleterre_ that's you."

"Bingo!"

"We're playing Risk! Just roll the damn dice already!"

"…"

"KOLKOLKOL."

"I didn't think it was possible to beat 25 armies with only one…"

"Doesn't matter, just go Spain."

"I'll go after Brazil."

"That's England again…"

"I'll *hic* take two. And they better not be anymore bloody spades."

"This is Risk, England. Just roll the dice, and I don't think you'll need that drink anymore, so…"

"Denmark no. You're a worse drunk then him. I'm rolling now."

"…"

"_Mierda._"

"This is getting embarrassing."

"Denmark, go so I can kick your ass again."

"Yeah right, I still have half my armies in Australia. You won't be able to take me down so easily."

"…"

"I can't believe you took me down so easily."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Many have fallen to my awesome in the past. Now, on your knees! Praise me!"

"Somebody go before Prussia's ego takes a corporeal form…again."

"England your turn."

"You're it."

"We're playing Risk!"

"I attack France!"

"You're nowhere near him!"

"No, wait, I'm in America."

"Oh, then okay. Roll the dice."

"…"

"_Merde_."

"He just conquered North America, again, in one turn. What's in his drink…?"

"We said no Denmark. My turn and I'll attack Russia."

"Again? As your friend, I'm telling you to just let it go."

"_Non_, I'll win this time."

"…"

"Damn it."

"Since it's my turn, I'll attack Scandinavia."

"Hey, stay away from them!"

"Relax Denmark, since I already obliterated you, I'll defend them."

"…"

"KOLKOLKOL."

"Don't mess with the best, Russia."

"Oh hey is it my turn? I'll attack the Middle East."

"Isn't _Angleterre_ there too?"

"*Hic* Bring it on! I've got the ace of trump!"

"We're playing Risk, and that's a coaster."

"…"

"As your friend, I'm telling you that you should just give it up too, Spain. My awesome turn and I'm going after Greenland."

"Um, England…"

"I *hic* select rock!"

"Just roll the freaking dice!"

"…"

"Pft, I'll get you next time."

"You and what army? That's *hic* right, you don't-"

"Your turn _Angleterre_! You want to conquer South America now?"

"France, that's my last territory!"

"*Hic* Draw your next pathetic card tosser, so I can end this duel!"

"Just roll and shut him up."

"…"

"I think that means you're out Spain."

"Good riddance, you suck at hopscotch!"

"We're playing Risk, dumbass!"

"Well, I'm going to-"

"Let's just assume Russia beat you again and move to his turn."

"You don't know what I was going to do Denmark!"

"What were you going to do then?"

"…go Russia."

"I'll attack Japan."

"But that's England's again…"

"He can't win them all, right?"

"…"

"KOLKOL-"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. My turn and I'm after Africa now!"

"_Mon dieu, _that's my last territory!"

"All's fair in kicking your ass!"

"I thought love was in there somewhere…"

"Shut up Spain."

"…"

"And that makes three continents for me."

"Now I've only got my India territory…"

"And I'll *hic* sink your battleship!"

"We're playing Risk, _mon ami_…"

"He _is_ right next to you…"

"Sounds like a legit attack to me."

"Just because you two are out doesn't mean you can side with England."

"Tally ho!"

"Don't chuck the dice at my head!"

"…"

"Mrs. Peacock, in the ballroom, with the revolver."

"We're playing Risk, and you just killed off France."

"Same thing *hic*."

"My turn then, yes?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"I'd like to take back Russia now."

"Pft, like the awesome me would let you."

"…"

"_Чёрт_!"

"And that's a win for my new German Empire! On your knees peasant!"

"I'm *hic* attacking with my Marshall."

"We're playing Risk."

"That one was actually pretty close."

"Let's go England, final showdown! German Empire versus British Empire! Winner drinks the rest of France's beer."

"England's wasted enough as it is."

"Spain, do you actually think I'm going to lose to a drunk England? He doesn't even know what we're playing."

"He did beat the rest of us."

"Well, Denmark, I'm far more awesome than you."

"I'll put a hotel on *hic* boardwalk now."

"England, we're playing Risk, now roll the dice so we can prove my awesome to everyone in the room."

"…"

"_Scheiße_."

"Go fish."

"He beat you good."

"He beat you good first!"

"I propose we don't play with drunk England anymore."

"_Fantastique_ idea Spain. All in favor?"

"Not unless I can get drunk too."

"Agree with Denmark, now hand me a beer!"

"Yeah, Spain's idea is a good one."

"Pfft. S'not my fault you bloody wankers don't know how to play Scrabble."

* * *

**France speaks a lot of French:**

**_Angleterre: _**England

**_Mon ami: _**My friend

**_Mon dieu: _**My god

**_Fantastique: _**Fantastic

_**Mierda/Merde/**_**_Чёрт/_**_**Scheiße: **_Shit. Had trouble with the Danish.


	12. Why Can't We Be Friends?

**More from the kink meme.**

**Prompt: _Russia finds [Plushenko] after the ceremony to comfort him and assure him that Russia is still immensely proud of him. Cause the man is really something._  
**

* * *

Russia was, of course, upset when the results were shown. No one could blame him though, since it was only _one freaking point_, so everyone just backed off as the large nation punched several holes in several walls, trashed the room set aside for them to watch the Olympics in, and cursed out everyone and everything in Russian.

After he had calmed down a bit, Russia realized this wasn't where he needed to be, and set out to find Plushenko.

He found him about twenty minutes later sitting all by himself, trainers, coaches, and other team members long gone to give the man some peace and quiet. The media, Russian, American, and otherwise, was currently occupied elsewhere, so Russia took the opportunity to sit next to his skater.

Yevgeny didn't react to the nation sitting down, choosing to spend a few more moments in silence before finally breaking it.

"I am sorry."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of. Silver is…"

"It should be gold. They…how could he win without a quad?"

Russia shook his head. "He shouldn't…but he did. I blame Canada, but you have done nothing wrong. You came back from three years of no skating and pulled off an amazing performance. You've made Russia proud…you've made _me_ proud."

Plushenko sighed and played with the silver medal in his hand, still not looking his nation in the eye. "It would have been nice…to remain undefeated."

"Yes…being on top is quite nice. If it weren't for those Americans bringing us down all the time…"

He managed to get a chuckle out of the skater. "Yes, especially when they cheat."

"Hey! I did no such thing!" A rather loud voice shouted. The Russians looked over to find that America and Lysacek where standing there, the nation looking upset while the skater just looked awkward.

"Canada's your brother. You clearly influenced the results." Russia stated.

"I'm not China; I don't need to cheat to win."

"China never-"

"There'snowaythosegirlsweresixteen! Anyway, that's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you here?"

"Uh…" America uncharacteristically shuffled around awkwardly. "Well, Evan and me, well we just wanted to, um…"

"We just wanted to say good job," Lysacek finished, extending a hand to the Russian skater. "And thank you. Really, I wouldn't have skated as well as I did if you weren't here."

Plushenko stared at the hand for a bit before standing up and shaking it. "You are not so bad yourself."

"Yeah, but seriously!" America clapped him on the back, forcing him back onto the bench, "you're performance was so cool! I don't think anyone on my team can pull off some of the stuff you did! I kinda see why Wier likes Russia so much after watching you…except not, because I'm still cooler."

"Well, we should probably get going," Lysacek nodded before grabbing America's arm and dragging him away, but not before he shouted, "See you in 2014!"

"He is…quite a handful," Plushenko commented as soon as the Americans were out of sight.

"Very, but still…2014…"

"I will be 31," the skater sighed.

"It will be home, in Russia. Besides, it's not that old."

Plushenko held his medal up to the light so that the silver sparkled and studied it, thinking about the others he had back home; his home, Russia, who was still proud of him, still backing him up.

"2014, huh?" A smile crept on his lips as thoughts of that second gold that might not be out of his reach yet entered his mind. "Count me in."


	13. Take Me or Leave Me

**If you've use the little arrow thing to get here, then this is the third new chapter today. If you want to read the other deanons then go back two chapters. Or not. Your choice.**

**Another deanon from the kink meme.**

**Prompt: _I'd like to see something with the song 'Take Me or Leave Me' from RENT. Preferably with America and England. BONUS: This argument happens at a World Conference. The relationship between the two was unknown to the other nations until this argument happened._**

* * *

England sighed and stretched out. Germany had finally let them break after about five hours of what was basically bickering about global warming/economy/Poland's skirt/whatever. At this point, all the British nation wanted to do was grab his lover and go get some lunch, but a quick look around the room showed that America was preoccupied talking with Lithuania.

No, not talking, _flirting_, he realized as he looked closer. The way America was laughing with him, touching him, standing far too close to him, the way Russia kept glaring at them…yes, it was definitely flirting.

Normally England wouldn't mind it all that much; yes, they were together, but America was a rather 'hands on' nation, so England let it slide. At first. However he had witnessed almost the same scene (minus the glaring Russia) the day before with Japan, and the day before that with Italy, and the day before that with Cameroon of all people. This time something had to be done.

England walked over to the duo and coughed politely to get their attention. When America saw him, his face lit up and said, "Hey England!"

"Hello, Mr. England. How are you?" Lithuania asked.

"Peachy. Can I borrow this idiot for a minute?" Without waiting for a response, he grabbed America's arm and dragged him to a secluded corner of the conference room.

"What's up?" He asked, completely clueless.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" England hissed.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you're not that stupid. This flirting thing has to stop."

"We were just talking."

"Of course you were, you're always 'just talking' to people, aren't you?" England said with all the sarcasm he could muster. America, for once, managed to read it, and was not happy about it.

"Look Mr. Stuffy-pants, if I wanted to actually fool around with other people, then I wouldn't be in a relationship with you, despite you trying to control everything."

"That doesn't give you the right to just flirt with everything that has legs! You're not bloody France."

"I can't help it if they start it!"

England scoffed in a disbelieving manner and was determined not to meet America's glare…that is, until the music started from nowhere. He could tell he wasn't going crazy, because as soon as it began every nation in the room turned their eyes toward them.

"_Every single day, I walk down the street,_" America started singing, causing England's eyes to widen and him to blush as _every single nation was looking at them_, but America didn't seem to mind that.

"_I hear people say 'Baby,' so sweet.  
Ever since puberty, everybody stares at me.  
Boys girls, I can't help it, baby."_

England had enough and started walking away, only to have his lover follow him, still singing.

"_So be kind, and don't lose your mind.  
Just remember that I'm your baby."_

He had managed to catch up to him and pulled the green-eyed nation into a pseudo waltz.

"_Take me for what I am,  
Who I was meant to be.  
And if you give a damn,  
Take me baby, or leave me._"

England broke away and continued walking towards the door on the other side of the room. Not giving up so easily, America jumped on the conference table.

"_Take me baby, or leave me."_

This caused some of the nations like Canada and Japan to gasp openly as England did stop and turn around; horrified that he would go to such lengths.

"_A tiger in a cage, can never see the sun," _he belted, taking off his jacket in the process. _  
"This hero needs his stage! Baby, let's have fun!  
You are the one I choose;  
Folks would kill to fill your shoes!" _He tossed his jacket at England, who reluctantly caught it and walked over, and as if standing on the table wasn't enough, America was now on his knees._  
"You love the limelight too, now baby."_

England smacked the jacket on the table and America had enough sense to climb down now, but, as if just to piss him off, started taking off his shirt, running away when England blushed and chased him down.

"_So be mine, and don't waste my time,  
Crying, 'oh honey bear, are you still my, my, my baby?'"_

England gave up and made his way to the door again, this time actually making out outside before America (and all of the nations who found this amusing) followed him.

"_Take me for what I am,  
Who I was meant to be!  
And if you give a damn,  
Take me baby, or leave me."_

By this point England had started walking up the stairs leading to where their rooms were, but stopped to look back and regretted it when he saw America on his knees again.

"_No way, can I be what I'm not," _he got up and spread his arms out wide.  
"_But hey, don't you want your man hot?"_ America started climbing up the stairs to join England.  
"_Don't fight, don't lose your head,  
'Cause every night, who's in your bed?" _He quirked an eyebrow, "_who?"_

Now, to England's utter horror, he was on his knees again. "_Who's in your bed?_" America looked up at the Britain with those puppy-dog eyes he knew he couldn't refuse. "Kiss Iggy…"

"It won't work," not to be outdone by the American, England joined in on the singing.

"_I look before I leap,_" he took one of America's hands and helped him up, stepping down a few steps in the process.

"_I love margins and discipline,  
I make lists in my sleep, baby,  
What's my sin?  
Never quit, I follow through,  
I hate mess but I love you,  
What to do with my impromptu baby?  
So be wise, 'cause this man satisfies,_" he stepped up to the and leaned in close as if to demonstrate his point.

He stepped back, smirking, and took off his own jacket, _"You got a prize, don't compromise. You're one lucky baby!" _England turned away from his lover and spread his arms wide.

"_Take me for what I am!" _  
"A control freak," America added as England stormed off down the stairs again,  
_"Who I was meant to be!"  
_"A snob yet over attentive," America continued to chase him down.  
"_And if you give a damn,_"  
"A loveable droll geek."  
"_Take me baby, or leave me._"  
"An anal retentive!"

They (and their mob following them, but neither seemed to mind at this point) had found themselves back in the conference room. England turned around to face America as they both sang.

"_That's it!_"  
"_The straw that breaks my back,_" England sang by himself.  
"_I quit!_" They sang as England walked over to the other side of the table.  
"_Unless you take it back," _England stopped to sing, before continuing on his way.  
"_Men,_" they both sang as America draped an arm around the Germany's shoulder  
"_What is it about them?_" He sang.  
"_Can't live, with them or without them!_" they belted as America went to stand on the opposite side of the table from England.

"That doesn't make much sense," France critiqued.

"_Take me for what I am!_" They sang as the smacked the table simultaneously.  
"_Who I was meant to be!_" England sang as he moved around the table.  
"_Who I was meant to be!"_ America echoed, both in words and actions.  
"_And if you give a damn,_" he jumped up on the table and crawled over to England, who sang,  
"_And if you give a damn, take me baby,_"  
"_Take me baby,_" America sang as he jumped off the table in front of his lover, "_take me or la-la leave me!_"

"_Take me baby!_" They belted, getting dangerously close to one another, "_or leave me,_" they backed off, heading for opposite doors.

"Guess I'm leaving," they both said simultaneously, looking at each other's eyes before shouting, "I'm gone!" and slamming both doors.

A silence permeated over the room, finally broken by (not surprisingly) Italy.

"Ve, I didn't even know they were together. Did you Germany?" The blonde could only shake his head, still too shocked for words to form.

"Please tell me someone got that on tape!" Prussia shouted, "I, uh, want to use if for blackmail…"

"Don't worry, Prussia-san," Japan said, "I'll send you a copy later."

"Me too Japan!" Hungary, Korea, Canada, and Denmark cried out.

"Enough!" Germany shouted, coming out of his daze, "We still have business to conduct! Gossip on your own time."

Everyone grumbled, but made their way back to their seats, making bets as to when, where, and for how long the makeup sex would occur. The current favorite was ten minutes from now, in the closet down the hall, lasting until the end of the meeting.


	14. First Day of Spring

**Written for the usxuk Livejournal community's One Year Anniversary. Prompt was Spring**

**Pairing: AmericaxEngland. Really light though.**

**Note: Rita's is an Italian Ice chain in the Eastern United States, but there are a few in Texas too. On the first day of spring, they hand out free ices and it's awesome.  
**

* * *

England sighed and rolled over as the sun streamed in through the windows. He was staying at America's house, which meant he was on vacation, which meant he had no work waiting for him, and he was fully intent on spending his free morning in bed with his lover until at least the afternoon. And nothing was going to stop him.

"England…" something whined as it poked his cheek, "Wake up England…"

Except maybe for said lover.

England opened his eyes and took a look at the clock on the nightstand. 8:00 AM.

"Bloody hell America, this is my first day off in I don't remember how long and I would like to spend it sleeping."

"But England, it's the first day of spring!"

"…and?"

"And, you know what that means…"

"That we can sleep in for five more hours?"

"No! That means we have to go to Rita's and get free ices!"

"…And you can't get ice for free in your country normally because…"

"Haha! That's a good one England! C'mon let's go."

"You're actually serious?!" England sat up, concerned for America's sanity. "Why the hell can't you just put some water in the freezer like normal people?!"

"But then it'll just taste like water…"

"Isn't that the point of ice?"

"Oh England, you're so clueless if you don't even know about Rita's Ices."

"I don't know who this Rita is or what she does to her ice to make it so special, but I'm pretty sure you can make your own ice."

"It's _Italian_ Ice England! Rita's makes Italian Ices! And they're giving them out for free today, so we gotta get going!"

"Fine, go have fun. I'm going back to sleep." The island nation plopped back down on the bed, intending to do just that.

"But Eeeenglaaaaaand," America started shoving his shoulder, in what he probably assumed was lightly, but considering the boy's strength, was anything but. "It's no fun if I go alone…sure there will be other people there, but they'll be with other other people and I just really want you to come with me…"

"If I go with you, will quit that racket?"

"Yup!" He took a step back and shut up to demonstrate.

"Fine, but I'm cooking dinner tonight…and we're having fish."

"Ew, England-"

"Or you can have fun eating ice by yourself."

"Fine, just hurry up already!"

"Just calm down and let me find pants and we can go!"

* * *

It was a perfect spring day outside. The sun was shining at just the right temperature, the birds were singing their lovely song, and the flowers were in bloom. America's excitement added to the already pleasant atmosphere and England couldn't help but smile along with him.

"So, what time does this place open?"

"Oh, about noonish."

"What!?" Good mood ruined, he stopped in his tracks. America walked a few more steps before he realized no one was following him. "You got me up at 8 AM and the bloody place doesn't even open until noon?"

"It's free Italian Ices! We're not going to miss it just because you want to sleep some more."

"We could have woken up at ten and still had time to spare!"

"Maybe, but then we would have had to wait in line, and I like being the first one."

"But even if we get there, we'd still have to wait for the place to open for another four hours. Surely the line wouldn't be that long."

"England, it's free ices. I don't know about where you come from, but where I come from, people like free stuff."

"Well then you can go wait in line for four hours. I'm going to get breakfast." With that, he turned around intent on finding a café somewhere or something.

"But England-"

"I'll see you at noon!" he called back over his shoulder. America pouted before continuing on his way.

* * *

England ended up having a relatively enjoyably, albeit lonely, breakfast and found he still had plenty of time to spare, so he decided to just go for a walk around the city before meeting with America.

When he finally arrived at the Rita's stand, he saw that the line had extended to around the block and then some, so he quickly bypassed all of them to the front of the line, where sure enough America was standing, laughing with some of his people. England quietly slipped in next to him.

"Um, what do you think you're doing?" one of the girls America was talking asked.

"Huh?"

"Did you just cut the line?" one of the guys asked.

"Oh, it's alright, I'm with him."

"Look pal, I don't care if you're with the Queen of England, you have to wait in the back of the line just like everybody else!"

England wondered if they'd still be complaining if he actually _was_ with the Queen of England. She was only a cell phone call away…

"Dude you can't cut the line." This time it was America who was complaining.

"What? Do you know how long this line is?"

"Yeah, that's why I wanted to get here early. Look, there opening any minute now, just wait for me in the back of the line and I'll be there soon."

"You…" but the other people in line were glaring at him now, and the young woman behind the counter had just opened the window, so he decided it was best not to make a scene and trudged to the back of the line.

About a minute or so later, America showed up with a cherry ice.

"You didn't even get one for me?"

"They only give one per person per visit," he shrugged. England glared at him before turning to face forward and tapped his foot impatiently.

"Relax, it'll go by quick. They always bring out their A-Team for the first day of spring." England grunted but said nothing else.

They actually were moving pretty quickly, although the line more than doubled by the time they moved half a block.

"Here, do you want the rest?" America offered his half-eaten ice to him. "I'm going to get another one when we get there anyway…"

England blushed but accepted the offering and took a bite. It actually wasn't that bad.

"I guess you can sometimes…where did you get that sandwich?" He had only looked away for about half a second and America was now eating a sandwich.

He swallowed before answering, "There's a sandwich shop over there, and they're giving out free samples…you want one? I could flag the guy down again."

"It's quite alright, I already ate." He continued eating the ice.

"Man, I could really use a soda right now…do you think there'll be guy handing out free cokes on the next block?"

"I don't think anyone's going to-"

"Free sodas?" Some asked as they shoved two cokes into their hands. "Courtesy of Mike's Deli! We're just over there, so stop by when you're done!" He left as suddenly as he showed up.

"That was weird…"

"You know what would be awesome," America smirked, "if there was someone up ahead giving out free money…"

"I don't think it works like that love. Can you hold onto this for me?" America took the coke from his waiting hand and put it in his jacket pocket.

"What about free video games?"

"I'm pretty sure that was a onetime thing."

"Free hamburgers?"

"You just had a sandwich."

By the time England had finished the ice and threw the cup in the garbage, they were once again in the front of the line.

"May I help the next person in line please?"

"Yes, um…" England looked over the menu.

"It's not that hard," America grinned as he walked up to the free window next to him. "Just pick one. If you want another we can wait in line again."

"I'm not waiting in line again!"

"Then just pick one. I'll take a blue raspberry this time Miss." The girl behind the counter giggled and handed him his blue ice.

"I'll…take a banana split I suppose." The girl nodded and got him his ice.

They sat on the nearby curb with a few other patrons and ate their ices in peace.

"ACK! Brain freeze!" Well almost peace.

"Git, don't eat it so fast!"

"But it's so good!"

"You are such an idiot sometimes." The finished up shortly afterwards and threw their trash out before walking down the street.

"So," America asked, subtly grabbing England's hand in the process, "did you like it."

"It was…enjoyable. I suppose. I've had worse things. Never wake me up at 8 AM on my day off ever again though."

"Deal, but now we get to do other first day of spring celebrations!"

"Others?"

"Yeah c'mon!" he tugged his hand and ran off down the street, laughter ringing through the air.

England decided it might not be bad to indulge him every now and then.


	15. That's What Allies Do

**Written for the usxuk Livejournal community's One Year Anniversary. Lyrics Prompt: "**_When the world comes crashing down/I will find you if you hid_**" from 'Lifeline' by Angels and Airways.  
**

**Pairing: AmericaxEngland. Really light though.**

* * *

America didn't know quite what to expect when he landed in France. The locals were thrilled to see him and his boys. The other nations, his allies now, were equally thrilled.

"America! Bonjour! You're looking good," France had greeted.

"Haha, thanks. You're looking…alive." The once fabulous nation of his childhood now looked like a shell of his former self. War did that to a nation.

"And glad to be it."

"Ve, America, does this mean you'll be joining us?" Italy had asked.

"Yeah, I just got here though, so I don't really know what's going on."

"Oh, no worries," he smiled, "Everybody learns quickly in the trenches."

"About bloody time you got your arse here," England had said, "Where are we putting him?"

"I was thinking starting him in your trench to show him the ropes."

"Ve, that sounds good."

"Hey don't I get a say in this?"

"Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"It's a war. I've fought wars before."

"Not like this _mon ami_…"

And France had been right. This war was like nothing he'd seen before. As soon as he'd gotten to the front line, bombs, grenades, machine guns, burst exploding everywhere non-stop from both sides. The trenches themselves were cramped and wet and just not pleasant. Well, that was to be expected; this was war after all, and war was never pleasant.

England had taught him the ropes, so to speak. Rather it was more of a crash course, and Italy was right: you learned fast in the trenches, because the other option was…not pretty. Not pretty at all.

Sometimes England would disappear for periods at a time and leave America in charge, which was a little unsettling since he was still new at this, but he thrived on the challenge of leading everyone and tried to do so to the best of his ability.

One day England didn't come back though. In fact, he'd been gone for most of the week.

"He's probably visiting the field hospital," one of England's officers answered when America asked. "He does that sometimes. Try to boost moral over there and all that. Have you had a chance to visit some of the boys there yet?"

He hadn't, so he hitched a ride over to the nearby field hospital to find England and to help boost morale.

It wasn't a pretty sight, to say the least. The shells and machine guns and other explosives had done a number on the troops. Most of the soldiers were missing at least a limb, sometimes more. Victims of the mustard gas were burned, blinded, and in constant pain. The shell shocked victims were troubling as well, either spaced out, staring at something America just couldn't see and didn't want to, or screaming. The screaming was everywhere.

But America put on his biggest Hollywood smile and visited all his boys to try his best to cheer them up. It seemed to work; at least the mood was a bit more cheerful than when he first showed up. Afterwards he decided to visit France's and Canada's soldiers as well, because everyone could use a little cheering up.

Canada had the same idea he did, and was delighted to spend some catch up time with his brother. They mostly talked about the war, which was all anyone around here seemed to talk about, but the two of them together managed to brighten the atmosphere considerably.

"Hey, have you seen England around?" America asked when all the other topics had been exhausted. "I heard he was around here somewhere."

"He might be off visiting his men still," Canada said, "Why don't you check over there?"

He thanked him, and they parted (Canada had to head back to the front soon). America made his way over to where the British troops were being treated and took a look around, but a blonde head attached to bushy eyebrows was notably missing.

"Can I help you?" one of the nurses asked.

"Yeah, you haven't seen a blonde guy with big eyebrows around here have you?"

"Mr. England?" America nodded. She thought about it for a bit, "He was here early, and I'm pretty sure he's still hiding here somewhere. He tends to disappear from time to time. I'm sure if you look around for him, he'll show up."

"Thank you very much Ma'am." He tipped his hat and went off to search for his lost England.

He scoured every corner in every tent to no avail. He checked the dining hall, the latrines, even the tent where the French casualties were being treated, but England was nowhere to be found. Just as America was going to give up and assume he must have just gone back already, he found him, curled up and whimpering behind one of the tents.

America didn't quite know how to take it. England was always so strong and so powerful. He had only ever seen him cry once, and it wasn't anything like this. England was _scared_, and jus the notion that there was something out there that could scare him made America quake in his boots.

"England…" Slowly America approached him and put a hand on the nation's shoulder, causing him to jump a mile and make a strangled sound.

"England," he put his hands up and tried approaching him again, "what's wrong?"

He looked back and forth and all around, anywhere but America's face. "It's – they're – it's –"

"It's what?" he crouched down so he was at England's eye level, "it's okay England, I'm here. Tell me what's wrong."

"It…it _hurts_. So much. Hurts so much. And I _feel_ it. All of them. Every single one. And there's too many. Far too many. Too much _pain_."

"It's just a war England…you've had them before."

"It's not – it's not the same. This is different. Completely different. Not the same. _Hurts _too much. Just too much. Too much pain. Too much destruction. Too much death. I can't…can't…" he broke down and started crying again, "Can't…it hurts too much…"

America gently wrapped England in a hug. He stiffened up at first but eventually relaxed into the embrace and cried on the other's shoulder. "It's alright England. It's going to be okay. I'm here now, it's alright," he repeated over and over again until England's sobs stopped.

"Thank you, America," England muttered into his shoulder. He'd calmed down quite a bit and was playing with America's collar, inhaling the other's scent.

"It's fine" America had started rubbing comforting circles into England's back, "that's what allies do."

"Yes, I suppose so."

They both went quiet after that until America asked, "Um…does that happen often?"

"Not really…just every now and then it becomes too much to deal with all at once. France had a pretty bad one last month. Russ…the others have them a lot as well."

"How long…how much longer do you think the war will last?"

"I don't know…soon I hope, but I've been hoping that for the past three years. You'll help us right? You'll help us until the end?"

"Of course I will," he tightened his grip around England, "that's what allies…what heroes are for."

"What kind of hero shows up late?"

"The hero's always late. Or really, he's just in time to save the day."

"Hmph. Well, Mr. Hero," he untangled himself from America and stood up, "we should be heading back to the front now or they'll think we deserted."

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked as he stood up as well.

"Yes, I'll be fine, don't worry about it. But, um…" he blushed and turned away, "thank you. For being here."

America had a feeling he wasn't just talking about the comforting just now. "No problem. Now, let's go win this war."


	16. Alfred Jones's Temple of Doom

**Written for the usxuk Livejournal community's One Year Anniversary. Quote Prompt: "**_To love would be and awfully big adventure_**." - J.M Barrie.  
**

** Pairing: AmericaxEngland.  
**

* * *

America and Lithuania entered the decaying temple, keeping an eye out for any ancient booby traps lying around

"Mr. America, are you sure it's in here?"

"Yup! If you take into account all of the evidence and clues we've found up to this point, this is the only place it could be."

"I've been thinking though…is it really worth going through all this trouble just to get…that?"

America stopped walking and turned to face his companion. "_That_ is worth any and all trouble I have to go through, no matter what."

"Mr. America, please be reasonable, you could lose your life in here!"

"And even then it would be worth it! We're so close right now. We can't just give up after coming all this way because of something like death!"

"…This place is probably haunted…"

America shivered. "E-even so…it's still totally worth it. This is the greatest treasure in the world and until now, no one has been able to get at it. I'm going to be the first, and I'm not giving it up without a fight."

"If you insist…"

They walked into the first room where the door immediately shut behind them. The room itself was rather small, but tall, as the walls extended several hundred feet above their heads and there was no ceiling, just the night sky looking in on them. The floor was actually grass with a large circle of flowers in the center, and the walls were covered with moss, giving the room an outdoorsy feel. Around them they could hear the light laughing of thousands of tiny creatures, yet could see none of them.

"It was rumored," Lithuania said, "that this place is heavily guarded by fairies and strong, ancient magic…"

"I'm not afraid of magic. We need to figure out how to open the door on the other side." He charged forward.

As soon as he stepped into the circle of flowers, America felt something tug at his legs, forcing him to stop, and at his arms, dragging him towards the center.

"Something's got me!" he shouted.

"It's the fairies! Remember what Mr. Norway said? You have to ask them for help!"

"I don't need their help!"

"They supposedly know more about the treasure than anyone else! Sometimes you just have to accept these things, Mr. America! Appeal to them! Speak from your heart!"

"But I…ugh, fine. Excuse me, fairy-things," he stopped being dragged, but the invisible grips on his limbs tightened, "uh, I can't see you…but I know you're there, so please listen. I know the treasure you're protecting is precious to you, and you care about it very deeply and don't want it in the wrong hands, but it's precious to me too! I don't want to see it lost or broken any more than you do. But, I can't just leave it hidden away for the rest of its existence…I need it. I've always needed it I suppose…it just took me so long to realize it. So please! You don't have to help me I guess, but at least don't hinder me in my quest!"

Nothing happened for a good five seconds before suddenly America felt his arms and legs be released. He stumbled forward at the unexpectedness of it as Lithuania rushed forward to help him. After the both left the circle and made it across the room to the door, one of the fairies showed herself to them.

"You may call me Miss Fairy," she explained, "We have judged you, and have decided that your heart is pure and your intentions are good, America. I will help you when I can in the challenges ahead, but be warned, there is nothing I can do if your will wavers along the way." At a snap of her fingers to door opened.

"My will won't waver."

"He means to say thank you very much, Miss Fairy. Any help to get us out of here alive is most appreciated."

"Even with my help, there's no guarantee that you'll come out of this alive," she smirked. Lithuania paled.

"HAHA! It wouldn't be worth it if it wasn't this dangerous! Let's go!"

The next room they entered was pitch-black when the door shut, save for the pedestal on the far side by the other door. A light seemed to admit from it so they could clearly see what was on it.

"Scones?" Lithuania asked.

"Scones," Miss Fairy agreed.

"So…do I have to, like…?"

"Yes. The door won't open until every last scone is gone."

America and Lithuania looked at the scones, then at each other, and simultaneously shuddered.

"Are you going to help us, Miss Fairy?" Lithuania asked.

"Are you nuts? Those could kill me! Good luck though."

"You don't have to eat any, Lithuania."

"Mr. America, don't be a fool! There's no way even someone with your horrible food sense can make it through all those scones alive! There must be a dozen in there."

"Baker's dozen actually," Miss Fairy corrected.

"It's fine. I'm the one who wants the treasure anyway. You shouldn't be forced through that torture for trying to help me…besides you've done more than enough already."

"Mr. America…good luck"

He gave his friend his best Hollywood smile before turning back to the scones and steeling himself for what he was about to do.

_It's worth it,_ he kept repeating over and over again, _It's worth it it's worth it it's worth it…_

He took a deep breath and started shoveling the scones into his mouth.

America woke up sometime later lying on the tiled floor of a different room. The moonlight lit up this room, revealing a large ceiling held up by several columns along the room's edges. As he sat up, he noticed cage in the middle of the room. Inside the cage was Lithuania and Miss Fairy.

"Mr. America! You're alive!"

"Yeah…why are you in a cage?" he stood up and walked forward, still a bit dazed.

"No don't!" Too late. As soon as America got within a foot of the cage, three statues on the side of the room sprang to life and attacked him. America barely had time to dodge out of the way.

"Those are the Ancient Guardians!" Miss Fairy shouted, "The Scottish Guardian, the Welsh Guardian, and the Irish Guardian! They've been protecting the treasure since before the temple was built, and they won't go easy on anyone who tries to steal it, no matter what your intentions are!"

America dodged skillfully as they triple teamed him again. "So I just have to beat 'em? No problem!" He jumped out of the way of another set of blows and crouched down to pull out his gun.

"NO! YOU CAN'T!!" Miss Fairy screamed at him. "They're too connected! If you beat them, then you forfeit the treasure forever!"

"WHAT!?!" He put his gun away and dodged to the right as they attacked again. "Then how are we supposed to get out of here?"

"I can open the door, but I need the key to the cage."

"And where's that?"

"…One of them has it."

"How am I supposed to get it from them if I can't beat them up?!"

"I don't know! Don't yell at me like that!"

"Mr. America," Lithuania chimed in, "I've been thinking…you remember what Mr. Prussia said to you that one time?"

America ducked under a fist, flipped backwards to avoid a kick, and jumped to the right to avoid a head-butt. "Um…when was this? Prussia says a lot of things."

"That time when you punched him in the face. He said that sometimes when someone intrudes on something precious to you, you just want to hit something out of frustration because people, and nations too I guess, don't like to share."

"Yeah, and then I punched him in the face," another dodge to the left and a quick roll out of the way. "He deserved it! Canada's too good for him anyway."

"Yes but after you punched him you gave them your consent. It's the same thing here! Mr. Canada is precious to you, right? Well, this treasure is precious to the guardians as well!"

"So, you're saying I should let them beat me up?"

"It's worth a try…"

America sighed before silently agreeing and standing still, waiting for the inevitable blows.

And come they did. Miss Fairy wasn't kidding when she said that they wouldn't hold back. By the time they were finished, America had cuts and bruises on every part of his body, a broken nose, several missing teeth, and too many cracked ribs to count. Somehow he still remained standing on his own will.

This apparently impressed the guardians, who gave each other a nod. One went to open the door while another went to unlock a cage. The third clapped America on the back for a job well done, which caused him to collapse in his weakened state, but Lithuania was there to catch him.

"Mr. America! Are you alright? Can you stand?"

"Y-yes, I should be fine…"

"Hang on, I'll heal you," Miss Fairy started flying around his head, chest, and legs and soon America was completely healed.

"Thank you. I don't trust these guys to start randomly attacking me again though, so we should keep moving." The others agreed, and the three of them quickly left the room behind.

The last room was the treasure room, and America could see it, right over there just out of reach, behind the giant wall of ice. All he had to do to get over there was get through the huge rainstorm, complete with copious amounts of thunder, lightning, wind, and rain, which seemed to only exist in this room.

"These are the temple's natural defenses," Miss Fairy explained, "Very few people have gotten this far, and no one as of yet has been able to survive."

"Looks like you need to get some of the fire in these lanterns across the room to melt the ice wall, Mr. America," Lithuania deducted, "but with that storm in between, it looks like that's impossible."

"Improbable," America corrected, "Just because it looks hard doesn't mean it can't be done."

"You should be proud you've gotten yourself this far," Miss Fairy said, "No one would think less of you if you backed out now. It's not worth your life."

"Yes, it is. I've made it this far, I can't just give up now!" He looked around the room for anything that could help him. "It looks like this is the only fire in the room."

"It is."

"But if I try to take it across, the rain will put it out, so I guess I can't melt the ice wall."

"You just said you weren't-"

"I said I couldn't melt it, but like hell am I going to let some damn ice stand between me and my treasure. I'll tear that damn wall down myself."

"Mr. America you can't-"

"If I'm not strong enough to tear down a wall in the middle of one of the worst storms I've ever encountered, then I don't deserve the treasure. Lithuania, Miss Fairy, you stay here; you've done enough already."

"Mr. America…" he nodded, "yes, I understand…I'll try to make sure Mr. Russia doesn't dance on your grave should if you don't make it back."

"That's all I could ask for." Without thinking of much else except getting through the storm and breaking down that wall, America charged ahead.

He got lost and confused several times, soaked through to the bone almost instantly, almost strike by lightning at least six times, possible more he lost count, and may have gone deaf due to the thunder, but eventually he did make it across to the wall of ice.

A quick look back discovered that he couldn't see Lithuania or the door anymore, but that didn't matter; he needed to look ahead and focus. America took a deep breath and started punching the wall.

The storm hadn't sapped him of all his strength, and he was making progress. Ice has the unfortunate tendency to shatter and as a result, ended up cutting up his hands and arms and face when it started flying everywhere, but that didn't matter. It didn't matter that after the first minute of punching the wall he couldn't feel his hands anymore. When they finally gave out he resorted to kicking at it or head-butting it, or whatever he needed to do to destroy the wall and get his most precious treasure.

America had lost track of the time, it could have been five minutes or five days, but eventually with one final kick the wall shattered into a million pieces.

"I…did it," he started laughing, quietly at first, but it got louder and louder until it was booming off the walls. "I did it!"

He sauntered forward, ignoring the cuts on his still numb hands, climbed up the plateau, and grabbed his treasure off the pedestal.

He finally had it, finally had what he had spent his entire life searching for, even if he didn't always know it, even if he lost his way sometimes.

He finally had England's Heart.

Suddenly the temple started shaking around him.

"Mr. America!" The storm had let up and Lithuania ran towards him, "Mr. England is quite the tsundere! He's not going to let you just waltz out of here now that you have what you've been searching for!"

"Let's go!" he jumped down from the plateau and ran for the door, Lithuania at his heels, "How lame would it be if we died after finally getting what we came for?"

* * *

"That's not what happened," England stated.

"Of course it's not exactly what happened…it was much harder than that," America countered, "but your brothers did beat me up."

"And I'm sure you went _so easy_ on Prussia and everything," he sighed, "I do hope the story doesn't end there though…"

"I dunno feel like sticking around and finding out?"

"With you, America, forever."


	17. I Don't Care If I Lose My Mind

**From the Kink Meme: **_Norway meant the meaning [of his Eurovision 2009 song] to be intentional, with the rest of Europe (and the world if you want) getting the idea as soon as chorus is heard...all except Denmark himself of course._

**Pairings: DenmarkxNorway.**

**Secondary cast: Europe.  
**

_

* * *

Well, this is it. No turning back now,_ Norway thought as he opened his eyes, looked out into the crowd, looking for _him_, and started playing.

"_Years ago, when I was younger  
I kinda liked, a girl I knew.  
She was mine, and we were sweethearts,  
That was then, but then it's true."_

Iceland figured it out right when he started fiddling. They were brothers for a reason. Sweden and Finland had been there through everything, so they picked up on it quickly, sharing secret smiles the whole time, glad one of them was finally _doing something_.

"_I'm in love with a fairytale  
Even though it hurts.  
'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind;  
I'm already cursed!"_

England figured it out next, but that wasn't surprising either; after all, he was cursed too. Sealand was still just a child, but he had been living near the two of them for a while now. As for Hungary, well, for some reason, her mind was more attune to these kinds of things. Austria gave her funny looks when she started giggling and didn't bother explaining why; he wouldn't get it.

"_Every day we started fighting,  
Every night, we fell in love.  
No one else could make me sadder,  
But no one else could lift me high above." _

France, the self proclaimed country of love, was next to realize what he was trying to do. He shared a smirk with Spain, who, despite his usual cluelessness to these things when concerning himself, got it shortly afterwards. Prussia was about to ask what they were going on about when it clicked and he joined them.

"_I don't know what I was doing  
When suddenly we fell apart.  
Nowadays I cannot find her,  
But when I do, we'll get a brand new start."_

Romano and Italy chuckled when they figured it out, confusing Germany, who was completely lost. Romano told him that was because his head was full of potatoes. Italy took pity on him and whispered it into his ear, causing him to blush and cough awkwardly. Was this really the place for such things? But Germany, it's more romantic this way! Stupid potato head, not even understanding that.

"_I'm in love with a fairytale  
Even though it hurts.  
'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind;  
I'm already cursed._"

Estonia sort of got it at first, but it didn't really click until later, when Latvia started nudging him and Lithuania grinned and Poland tackle-hugged him. Russia's smile took on a less creepy edge when he finally understood, while Ukraine cheered him on and Belarus mutter something about someone finally doing something about it. Liechtenstein giggled and tried to sneak peeks at _him_ while Switzerland asked what was going on.

"_She's a fairytale  
Yeah  
Even though it hurts.  
'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind;  
I'm already cursed."_

By this time even Switzerland and Austria had realized what he was doing. Turkey and Greece laughed about it together, actually not trying to fight each other for once. Belgium was jumping up and down excitedly while Netherlands tried to calm her down to no avail; he was pretty excited about this himself.

Norway finished up the fiddling and took a bow amidst thunderous applause, the people cheering for his song, the nations cheering for his heart.

Denmark was waiting for him when he got off the stage, all the other European nations gathered around behind him in a group.

"That was a really cool song Norway! I didn't know you could play fiddle."

The other nations groaned.

"That's all you're going to say?!" France interjected.

"What, he did a really good job! A lot better than you did."

"I'm surrounded by idiots!"

"Romano, we're on opposite ends of the continent…"

"Well _I'm _disappointed to be sharing a border with you," Prussia stated.

"You don't have a border…"

"Maybe Denmark just doesn't return Norway's feelings," Russia suggested.

"No way," Turkey said, "we've been watching them dance around each other for ages. There's no way this isn't mutual.

"…Am I missing something here?"

"Yes _mi amigo_, you're missing something quite big."

"Ve, does this mean they won't get their happy ending?"

"Can someone please tell me what's going on?"

At this time, the other Scandinavian countries and Sealand were silently laughing on the side, sans Norway himself, whose eyebrow started twitching.

"Moron," Austria muttered, "Norway said he's in love with a fairytale…who here is known for his fairy tales?"

The nations waited with bated breath as Denmark put two and two together to get…

"England?" More collective groaning commenced.

"Japan just texted me," Greece said, "he and the other Asians just saw Norway's song on the internet and they want to know if he and Denmark are together yet."

"America just texted me as well," England noted, looking at his phone, "he and Canada want to know the same thing."

"Why do they, oh…" Denmark's eyes went wide as he finally figured it out. "_Oh_…"

"Finally!" All of Europe shouted when Denmark turned to face Norway all smiles and happiness. They left to give them their privacy, Hungary being dragged away by Sweden.

"You thought I was in love with England?" were the first words out of Norway's mouth.

"Yeah well…it made sense in my head…"

"I can't believe I fell in love with an idiot," he sighed before looking the other nation in the right in the eyes, "Why didn't you ever…you know, tell me how you felt?"

Denmark laughed and lifted his love into a hug.

"I was just waiting for you."


	18. A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Taunts With

**Written for the Kink_Meme prompt: **_USUK version of Cinderella...with scones._

**Warning: **Prince Fail Chef!England/Amesconerellica, Evil!France, Jerk!Canada, Fairy!Russia, and Japan, who is quite himself, thanks for asking.

**Enjoy?**

* * *

Once upon a time in a land that wasn't exactly nearby, but wouldn't be described as far away by any means, lived a young man named America that everyone called Sconerella. Just because.

After the untimely death of his parental unit, who was actually pretty cool, Sconemerica was forced to live with his bearded step-mother France, who had a habit of running around in nothing but roses, and his step-brother, Canada, he was an upstanding person in public, but in private, was a real douche.

Sconerella was a fan of eating. He loved nothing more than to chow down on whatever was in front of him. But his mean step-relatives made him work all the time, cleaning and cooking and basically doing everything for them that they didn't want to do themselves. Amerella knew that they were just jealous though, so he did everything with a smile on his face just to piss them off, and even went so far as to sometimes burst into random song. He even got some mice to join in one time, which was kind of weird; especially the part where they started making him dresses, but whatever. It was better than singing alone.

This land, like so many others in these kinds of things, was ruled by royalty. The royal family consisted of a king and a queen, who don't matter in this story, and their son, a prince named England. Prince England was at the age where he was to be wed to continue the royal line, as that was his destiny. The thing about Prince England was that he was very particular about whom he wanted to marry, and had a habit of cursing out everyone who came to close. His parents thought that his money and power would be enough to catch any girl's fancy though, and proceeded to throw a ball so England could find a mate. England was not pleased, but went along with it anyway, and insisted on cooking all the food. His royal parents begged him to reconsider, but he went along and did what he wanted anyway, damn the consequences.

News of the ball traveled far and wide, and reached the ears of France and Canada, who felt the need to shove it in Sconerella's face.

"Look at this!" France shouted, holding out the invite so America could read over it, "Canada, my favorite, and I have been invited to a fancy ball up at the palace. Canada's going to win over the prince's heart, get married, and we're going to move into the palace and leave you here to rot. How does that sound?"

"Awesome! I'll finally get my own place!" Sconerica, the forever optimist declared.

"Don't bother Mama France," Canada sneered, "Amescone here wouldn't know a good time if it smacked him in the face with a hockey stick."

"Fine, enough of this taunting. It's bad for my hair. Come Favorite; let us prepare you for your own happily ever after! As for you, make sure you clean, cook, water the cat, and feed the roses." They sauntered off, leaving Sconerella alone with the invite.

"What's so special about a ball anyway?" America wondered aloud, "It's not like…" it was then that he read the small print on the invitation. After realizing, he quickly jumped to his feet and ran after the step-relatives.

"Wait! You've gotta take me to this thing too!"

"What, you don't think the likes of you actually has a chance with Prince England do you?" France smirked.

"Amerella, face it," Canada sighed, "You are completely unlovable."

"I don't care about that," Sconerella pleaded, "but there's going to be free food! I can't miss out on that I just can't! I'll do whatever you want when we get back, but you gotta take me, you just gotta!"

"Fat chance Sconey," France sneered, "you already do whatever we want anyway, why should be take you?"

"Because I want to go!"

"No way. This is my happy ending got it?" Canada shouted, stomping his foot, "I don't want the likes of you ruining it for me."

"But…"

"Non. No ball for you. Go back and do your chores wench, while we go out and have some real fun. Mwahaha! Join me in an evil laugh Canada."

"Mwahahaha!"

America sighed, depressed, but went back to do what was asked of him.

Hours later, France and Canada had left to go eat the free food and Sconeica was doing dishes with the singing mice.

"Why can't I go eat the food too? It's not fair!" he lamented. All of a sudden a bright light appeared outside, surrounding the area with, well, a bright light. America, being the curious boy that he was, went out to investigate, damning the consequences.

As soon as he stepped outside, the bright light disappeared, revealing a large man wearing a scarf and heavy winter jacket, decked out in wings, a halo, and carrying a wand.

"Hello Amersconeica," the being greeted, "I'm your Fairy Motherland, Russia. I'm here to grant you a wish."

"Finally! I wish I had a cheeseburger!"

He chuckled. It was creepy. "Silly boy, you don't get to pick the wish."

"Then I have no purpose here. See ya!" he turned to go back inside.

"Wait! You want to go to the ball right? I can help you get there."

"Really? How?"

"Magic of course!"

"I'm going back inside."

"Wait! I'm being serious! Watch, Bibbity Boppity Boo!" he tapped his wand on a nearby tomato, turning it into a carriage…sort of.

"There are still seeds in this thing," Sconerella noted, "and the juice is dripping everywhere. I can't ride in this."

"You will if you want to go the ball. You still want to go to the ball yes?"

"I do, but…"

"Then there is no problem. Bibbity Boppity Boo!" He shouted, smacking his wand rather hard against America's head.

"Stop shouting nonsense in my face!" he shouted, but when he looked down, Amerella found himself in one of the fanciest dresses he had ever seen. It matched his eyes and everything.

"Why a dress…and what's with the glass slippers?" he kicked his foot out to show them off, "Scientifically speaking, these are probably the worst idea ever. They lack the necessary support, and when the break, which they will, they will cut up my feet to a point where I may never walk again."

"It is a joke. Hahaha!"

"You find me never being able to walk again funny?"

"Yes, it is hilarious. Laugh with me. Haha!"

"…I'm not wearing the slippers."

"Have it your way," the Fairy Motherland hit his wand against the tomato carriage, causing it to squirt juice and open the door, "Remember, at the stroke of midnight, everything will turn back into what it was, so try and eat your fill by then, yes?"

"It would be bad if France and Canada caught me there, but why do I need a time limit anyway?"

"Things are more fun with a time limit yes?"

"No, things are more annoying with a time limit. You just like watching me suffer don't you?"

"Perhaps." He smiled. Sconerella considered punching him in the face, but realized Russia was the only reason he's going to the ball so spared him of that fate for now.

The ball was as magnificent and elegant as France and Canada had described it, but Amerella didn't care about that. The large, untouched buffet at the opposite end of the ballroom was calling to him.

Prince England was moody and upset. No one was particularly worried about this, since that was his default setting, but it didn't change the fact that it scared all possible suitors away. If that didn't do it, then his insistence that they eat his scones did, causing everyone who had tried to dance with him that night to run crying to the nearest bathroom, never to be hear from again.

"It's hopeless," England sighed, "There's no one out there for me."

"That's not true, Prince England," his friend and fellow prince, Japan, said, "I'm sure you'll find someone. Maybe if you didn't make them eat your scones-"

"If they can't even do that much then I can't possibly love them!" England declared.

"Then I hate to break this to you, but you will be alone and miserable for a very long time."

"Sod off!" England shouted as he stormed to the buffet table, "My food isn't _that _bad," muttered under his breath. When he arrived at the table, however, he was disappointed to notice that not a thing had been touch, just as he was about to sink into an even greater depression, he noticed someone approach the table out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes! Food! There's still some left!" the person shouted, before grabbing everything within his reach and shoveling it into his mouth. England was about to reprimand him for his lack of proper dining etiquette when he realized that he had gotten past the first mouthful _and was still eating_.

"You like it?" He found himself asking the strange dress-wearing man, "You really like it?"

"Well, not really. It kinda tastes like crap," he said as he continued to down just about everything.

"But…you're still eating."

"It's free! I can't really complain about the food when I'm getting it for free." He turned away from England and continued noming.

That was close enough for Prince England. "What's your name?"

His new fiancé gulped noticeably and froze on the spot. "Uh…why do you need that?"

"Because I need to know, git. What's your name?"

His love's eyes looked everywhere except his face, "Uh, well…I uh…"

Suddenly the clock chimed. They both looked at it and discovered it was midnight, "Crap! I gotta go!" The man bolted from the ballroom before England realized what had happened. Nevertheless, he had found his bride, and he would have no other.

Sconerella raced back to the house in the tomato carriage, only to find that it was 12:30 and everything was still exactly as the Fairy Motherland had made it. He confronted said magical being, who was playing poker with some of the mice.

"Hey what gives? You said everything would go back to normal at midnight!"

"Yes, and it will. But you forgot to consider the time difference; it is not midnight in Russia yet."

This time America actually did punch him in the face. So worth it.

The next day, Prince England started a nation-wide search for the mysterious man who could eat his scones. He decided that the best course of action to find him would be to force everyone in his kingdom to eat his scones, and whoever didn't get sick afterwards would be his wife. Prince Japan thought that this was a crazy idea that would never work, but went along anyway. If nothing else, it would be amusing to watch.

France and Canada, who were upset by the fact that the Prince didn't seem to even notice Canada was there, were thrilled by this second chance. France was troubled though, as he knew that Sconemerica could eat anything, and had a sneaky suspicion that he was the one the Prince was looking for. She took the only logically course of action, namely locking Sconerella in the attack.

"Hey what gives? What did I do now!"

"Don't fret Amerella. I will let you out as soon as Canada eats those nasty scones and steals your love right out from under you."

"What? There's going to be food and you locked me in the attic! This is low, even for you."

"That's the way it is. So long Sconerella! Mwahahaha!" France laughed as he descended the stairs.

While this was going on, Prince England had taken over the kitchen to mix up a fresh batch of scones for Canada to try. Canada gulped and told himself that they couldn't possibly be as bad as everyone said and that it was worth it and…did he just put a sock in there?

Japan eyed France as she sat down. "That's everyone in the house, right?" he asked in an accusing but polite manner.

"Of course! It's not like I have the main character locked in the attic or anything. That's just ridiculous. Do you need any help with those?" she asked England.

"Sod off, I know what I'm doing!" he snapped, grabbing the baking soda and dumping it into the mixture.

Japan, being suspicious, excused himself and went to search the house.

Sconerella, meanwhile, was banging on the attic door with everything he had.

"Damnit! Wait, I've got a Fairy Motherland! Certainly he, who cared enough about my happiness to get me to the ball last night, will open the door for me!"

Suddenly a bright light engulfed the area, forcing America to close his eyes. When he opened them, he found a note in his hand.

_Busy trying to wake up some sleeping girl. You're on your own today. Best of luck, tell me what happens!  
-The Fairy Motherland_

That bastard. Well it's fine; Sconemerica was used to being on his own. He would just break down the door and…

"Ah, I thought I heard shouting from in here," Sconerella turned to see that Prince Japan had already unlocked the door. "Prince England is waiting downstairs, would you care to join me?"

Amerella beamed at him. "I'd be delighted."

In the meantime, Canada had taken a bit out of one of the scones. He was currently lying unconscious on the ground. France sighed.

"It is a shame your food is too disgusting for my poor boy," England's rather large eyebrow started twitching, "but would you reconsider? He would make a fine wife."

"No, I've already decided. I will only wed whoever can eat my food."

The blonde picked up a scone and sniffed it, disgust crowding her face. "Then you will be alone for a very long time, non?"

"Sh-shut up! I'm telling you, last night someone ate my food, and I _will_ find him," he stood up and smoothed out his shirt, "Now, if there is no one else left to try my food, I will be heading on my way."

"No," France said, "there is no one else here."

"Wait just a moment please!" Japan shouted as he dragged Sconerella into the kitchen. He and England locked eyes and smiled, recognizing one another from the night before. "I found someone else upstairs."

"Good work Japan," England grabbed the tray of scones and walked across the room to Ameriscone. France, being the villain, decided that if his precious Canada couldn't have his happy ending, then no one could, and tripped the Prince, scattering the disgusting scones across the floor, sending them to a new level of inedible.

"You stupid frog!" England barked, "Why did you go and do that?"

"It was an accident, I swear," she smirked, "Now not even Sconerella will touch them, and like hell am I letting you destroy my kitchen again to make more."

"You…" the Prince stood to face France, but stopped when he noticed Amerella on the floor, eating his scones.

"You're…you're still eating them?" Everyone in the room shouted.

"That's impossible!" France choked out.

"He's not human," Japan gasped, "There's just no way…"

"You…you don't have to go that far," England muttered, blushing.

"But you went through the effort to make them for me," America stated between bites, "the least I could do is eat them. They still taste like crap though."

"No one asked you!"

France and Canada refused to live with the shame of having lost to Sconeica and moved to a different land that was far, far away. On the way, Canada found a frog and kissed it, turning it into an awesome Prince named Prussia who whisked him away to his happily ever after. France was thrilled and moved in with them the next day. Prince England and Sconerella were wed shortly after that, and England insisted on cooking all of the time. America didn't mind, but he did make it a habit of ordering burgers to be delivered right after dinner, just in case. And they lived happily ever after. For now.


	19. A Hero's Job

**I do love me some good crack pairings, and America/Romano happens to be my favorite. Yes, it makes sense, what are you talking about?**

**For the kink meme prompt: **Adult!Romano crying his eyes out alone somewhere. [America] stumbles across him and tries to comfort him.

**Enjoy.**

* * *

America liked to think that he was a nation that could do just about anything. He'd broken away from the most powerful empire in the world. He'd gone west and united his land from sea to shining sea. He's survived Civil War, the Great Depression, two World Wars (even if he only showed up at the end of those), and a Cold War with Russia and managed to come out the world's lone superpower. He's sent men to the moon and created the most deadly weapon the world has ever seen. Yes, America felt that he could do just about anything.

Except deal with a crying Romano.

During his usually walk in the park after the meeting, he had been shocked to find the Italian sitting on a bench in the secluded part of the park, crying his eyes out, and he had no idea what to do. For starters he didn't know the nation very well. Yeah, they'd had some crazy times in the twenties, but one decade doesn't amount to much in centuries of life, and he knew Romano was even older. Still, America prided himself on being a hero, and he would help Romano with whatever it was that was bothering him, whether the other nation liked it or not.

First, of course, he had to talk to him. "Hey Romano! What's up?" he announced as he sat next to him.

"Chigi! B-bastard! What are you doing here?" Romano shouted as he punched the American in the shoulder. America barley felt it.

"I was just walking. Is everything alright?" America took a sip of his soda. Yes, everything was going perfectly.

"Everything's fine! Everything's happy and peaceful and wonderful and fantastic!"

"Then why were you crying?"

"A-allergies, dumbass."

"Huh," that's odd; allergy season in America was during the spring and it was clearly summertime, and usually it was only a few tears, not the whole 'release the floodgates thing,' but maybe it was different in Italy, "Well if that's all it was." The blonde nation stood and was going to leave but was stopped when a hand grabbed his shirt.

"Wait," Romano said, and tugged him back to the bench. America complied and sat down, waiting out the silence by finishing off his soda.

"Do you ever, you know, feel like you're just not good enough?" the Italian eventually asked. America chucked his empty cup into the nearby trashcan and leaned back to contemplate.

"No. I'm pretty damn awesome."

"Not even a little?"

"No. Why?"

"Che, bastard, figures you'd think that. Never mind, this was a stupid idea." he sniffled and made to get up, but America dragged him back.

"No, come back! Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it."

"You can't just swoop in and fix all my problems jackass!"

"Let me try. Please?"

And no one could say no to America's Puppy-Dog Eyes©. "You…hell, you wouldn't understand…you don't have a brother."

"Sure I do." America pulled out another soda and started slurping that.

"What? Since when?"

"Since forever. You know, Canada," he waved his soda around vaguely to demonstrate his point, "that guy from up north…"

"…Not ringing any bells. But still, you've always had the spotlight. You're always the center of attention. You…you wouldn't know what it's like to be passed up for your younger brother just because he's _better at fucking everything_-"

"That's not true," America stated simply, as if it was a fact, which it was in his mind.

"Of course it is! Why else would everyone just…just flock to him? God, even Spain…" he sniffled and turned away again, and the blonde nation could tell he had started crying again, "but, it doesn't matter does it? In the end, everyone always picks Veneziano."

America let him cry it out again for a little before asking the inevitable, "What happened?"

"Nothing happened! God, it's not like you'd even care."

That wasn't right; America was a hero. If one of his fellow nations was suffering, he cared. It's just what heroes did. Something told him Romano wouldn't appreciate that as much as he should.

"If I didn't care I wouldn't have asked. Complaining to someone about it to someone always makes you feel better. Trust me I do it all the time."

There was more silence, before Romano eventually sighed and gave in. "Spain and I, well, we haven't been able to spend a lot of time together recently, so we made plans for after the meeting today…"

"That sounds good! Why are you crying over that?"

"Idiot! I'm not crying!" He clearly was, "Anyway, I'm not done. We _had_ plans, but _Veneziano_ wanted to do something with him instead. Since he's just so _perfect_ and so much better than me, of _course_ everyone would rather be around him instead."

"Oh, you were ditched…"

"Thank you for putting it in such eloquent terms. I _never_ would have been able to figure that out without your input!"

"No problem," Romano rolled his eyes and turned away as America tried to come up with something else to say, "You know, I used to be England's colony."

He grunted as if to say "So what?" Even if that isn't what he meant, America decided to tell him anyway.

"He had a lot of colonies back in the day, and they were always giving him all this cool stuff like sugar and spices and loads of other really valuable stuff, but then only thing of value I could ever give him was tobacco."

"Tobacco's important," the Italian commented.

"I suppose, but the other colonies still gave England more, and well, it made me feel…like you said, like I wasn't good enough for him."

Romano was still facing away, pretending not to listen, but had to ask, "What did you do about it?"

"I tried my best. Seized every opportunity available to me and eventually became my own country and surpassed England."

"I think you're missing something there…"

"That's not the point; the point is so what if you were ditched? That's Spain's loss, and it doesn't mean you're brother is better than you."

"Then what does it mean?" Romano barked at him, "It's been this way ever since we were little! Veneziano's always more well behaved and talented and just fucking _better_ than stupid, lazy, Romano! Romano who can never do anything right! Why can't I do anything right?"

This was bad. He was supposed to be making him feel better, not worse. "That's not true…you can do things right."

"No I can't!" Romano slammed his fist down on the bench in between them, "I can't…damnit." He buried his face in his hands again, his back shaking with sobs. America hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder to try and do something to calm him down. "What's the point? Everything I can do, _he_ can do better…"

"That's not true; everyone's got something that's their niche."

"Name it. Name _one thing_ I can to better then Veneziano."

"…You were a pretty damn good bootlegger back in the day."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm pretty sure your brother couldn't have gotten half as much alcohol into my house as you did," America leaned back and took another sip of soda.

"Yeah, well, you ended your ridiculous ban on the stuff ages ago, so that amounts to nothing."

"But it's still there. You'll always have that over your brother."

"Yes, an illegal activity that ultimately changed nothing, lucky me. He has everything and I have nothing! Who gives a shit about me anyway?"

"I do." Romano just laughed in a hollow way that made America think he didn't believe him, which was ridiculous. He did care about what happened to the Italian. So he continued sipping his soda, thinking of something else that would make the other feel better, he should be able to do what much for him, and came up with, "There's a Cape Romano in Florida."

"Wh-what?" Romano looked up, blushed, and head-butted America's shoulder. "Why is there a Cape Romano in Florida?"

"Dunno. Spain was there first, so you can ask him."

"S-Spain named a cape after me…in Florida…" the Latin nation buried his head in his hands again and started laughing. It was quiet at first, but it was such an honest laughter this time that America couldn't help but grin along with him, "Of all the idiotic things to do…" whatever good mood he had deflated too fast for the blonde to keep up with, "So where's Cape Veneziano? Probably by Washington or somewhere important"

"That was England's turf, and I don't think there is a Cape Veneziano."

"Really?"

"Well, it's not at my house, but really that would be a very awkward name for a cape."

"That's true…so he named a cape after me…in Florida…"

"Yup. It's a really nice place too." America wasn't sure how, but he had apparently gotten Romano to stop crying, and he seemed happier. He chucked his now empty cup into the garbage alongside the other one and stood up.

"Hey," he said to Romano, "since you're not doing anything right now, wanna get lunch with me or something?"

The Italian gave him a skeptical look, but eventually stood up and started walking with him. "I pick the place though. I refuse to eat one of those heart attacks on a bun you insist are food."

"The Double Down sandwich doesn't have a bun. Besides I was gonna pick someplace Italian…"

"All the more reason I should pick it. What you think is Italian and what I know is Italian are two completely different things."

America just laughed. "Okay, whatever you want." To be honest, he didn't really care, he was just glad he could get Romano to smile.


	20. Smile For Me Babe

**Yeah, that's right. More America/Romano. If I were you, I'd get used to it...just saying, there might be more coming up this summer**.

**Enjoy.**

* * *

America saw it. It was only there for the briefest of moments, and it could easily have been missed with all the other chaos going on, but it was there, and he saw it.

He saw Romano smile, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

It was at the meeting. One of Greece's cats started eyeing Gilbird. When it launched at it, France's Pierre tried to stop it. They started squabbling in the way that animals do, Iceland's puffin and Canada's Kumajiro helped back up Pierre while Netherland's rabbit and Japan's Pochi took the cat's side. By this time their owners had started fighting over who started the whole thing. Germany's dogs, China's panda, and Finland and Sweden's Hanatamago also joined the fray. England and Norway were arguing about something off in a corner, those weirdoes, and America was starting to wish his whale would show up just so he could join in too, when Spain's bull burst through the wall.

And Romano laughed, and Romano smiled.

Everyone else was focused on the bull by that time, so America was fairly certain he was the only one who saw it, but it was still definitely there. It was gone as soon as it showed up, quickly covered by a hand and a cough and a scowl, but he knew what he saw; it was beautiful and perfect and he wanted to see it again.

This was why he was now in Rome, outside of Romano's house, banging on the door to be let in.

"What the hell Spain? I just-" Romano shouted as he opened the door. America grinned at him and Romano glared back. "You're not Spain."

"No, I'm not," America smiled some more.

"…The hell do you want?"

Still no smile. "I just was in the area," he was on his way to a meeting with England, but it's all still Europe, "and decided to drop by and say hi."

"…It wasn't me."

"What?"

"Just, whatever you think I did, it wasn't me."

"No! I don't think you did anything. I just wanted to, you know, hang out."

"…If you don't have official business then go away." With that, Romano slammed the door in his face, leaving America standing outside, alone, and more determined than ever to see Romano's smile again.

* * *

At the next round of meetings, America made sure to never take his eyes off the Latin nation in case he smiled when no one was looking. All that really seemed to accomplish was to completely freak him out though, and apparently him freaking out was counterproductive to getting him to smile.

Break eventually came, summoning him to the coffee machine far, far away from where Romano was chatting with Belgium. When America obtained his sweet nectar of life, he glanced around the room, eyes naturally landing on the Italian that they'd been looking at all day, to find that he was smiling again. Smiling at Belgium, although she seemed to brush it off like it was nothing, which truly baffled America.

Naturally, after the meeting, he had to confront her about it.

"Of course he smiled at me. He's always smiled at me, ever since he was little," she shrugged, like it was no big deal, which it was. "Why do you ask?"

"I've…never really seen him smile and its nice…" Why was he blushing? There was no need for that.

"Really?" she was truly confused, "He smiles all the time, like, well not now," the both looked over to see Romano shouting at Germany and Prussia, and not smiling, "but like, when he's with Liechtenstein, or Hungary, or Taiwan, or Seychelles, he's smiling then."

"Oh." Why them and not him? He was a nice enough guy…

"I guess," Belgium went on, "Roma's always liked girls. Maybe that's it? He was always rather grumpy with my brother."

So that was it. If America wanted to see him smile again, he'd have to become a girl! Quickly, he thanked Belgium and ran off to find the one nation who could help him in this matter.

* * *

England promptly spit out his tea. "You want me to what?"

"I want you to turn me into a girl." America put on his best puppy dog eyes as he stared him down in the older nation's sitting room.

His friend just stared at him like he was crazy. "You're crazy."

"Please England? Just do me this solid and I'll never ask you for anything again."

"You said that _last_ time you wanted something," he muttered before asking the inevitable, "Why me?"

"Because you're always going on about 'magic this' and 'magic that,'" America explained, with hand gestures, "and this seems like a situation that calls for magic."

"Magic only works if you believe it will, and you, you lousy git," he emphasized his point by poking the blonde's head, "absolutely refuse to do that."

"I knew you were just spouting bull or, what would you call it? Poppycock," he mocked in his worst British accent.

"You're not doing very much to convince me to help you," England leaned back in his chair and sipped the rest of his tea, "Why do you want to be a girl anyway?"

America's face immediately went red. "Oh, no reason."

"Everything you do, no matter how farfetched and asinine, has a reason. And you're a horrible liar."

"I…you'll think it's stupid…"

"America, I already think half of the things you do are stupid. I don't think this will lower you any in my eyes."

"Well," he started, "'Iwantedtosee-Romanosmileandhe-onlysmilesatgirls-soIthoughtthatifIwasagirlhe'd-smilearoundmeisall."

England blinked and took another sip of tea. "You know, I don't recall ever seeing Romano smile…"

"I know! But it's so beautiful and awesome and…" he caught the smirk on the other nation's face, "and you're laughing at me."

"No no, I'm not laughing," the smirk still didn't leave his face though, "I think it's…well, what I think about it doesn't matter. If you want to get Romano to smile, there are other, less drastic ways to go about it than turning yourself into a girl."

"Like what?"

"How about being nice to him, for starters? Have you ever even chatted with him?"

"We've talked a few times…"

"About business. But have you ever sat down and chatted with him? Just 'shoot the breeze' I suppose you would say?"

"…Maybe that one time…"

"Well, start there. Become his friend, and then maybe he'll smile for you."

"I tried that though. He slammed the door in my face."

The smirk intensified. "When, my dear lad, has that ever stopped you before?"

* * *

And so, Romano grudgingly found himself with a new best friend, whether he liked it or not.

"Wha'cha doing?" America asked him after he had surprised visited him for the third time that week.

"Making lunch," Romano batted the American's hand away from the food, "don't touch!"

"I could help if you want."

"No thank you. Stay the hell away from my food," America snatched a tomato, "What did I just say?"

America grinned at him on the off chance he'd do the same. He didn't of course, "You really like tomatoes don't you?"

"No one asked you!" The tomato was snatched back, chopped into teeny tiny pieces, and thrown in the pot. Romano stared at it angrily for a bit before asking, without turning around, "Why are you here?"

"I told you, we're friends now, so we're hanging out."

"I never agreed to be your friend!"

"Pshaw, who wouldn't want to be my friend?"

"Me!" He rubbed his temples in frustration, "God, why don't you just go bother Veneziano and search for that stupid atmosphere thing?"

"I don't want to hang out with Veneziano," America replied. Romano swiveled around to face him, "I want to hang out with you."

His lip twitched; that was the closest he's gotten to getting the Italian to smile. He also turned red, very red, almost like…

"You know, you look just like a-" America only caught the tomato that came flying at his face due to his quick reflexes.

"N-no one asked you!" He turned back to the pot and started stirring something else into the mix. When he started muttering curses in Italian, America noticed something.

"You look pretty tense, is something wrong?"

Romano grew even tenser, if that was possible. "Why would you say that?"

"Just…I don't know, you're all stiff and stuff. What's wrong?"

The Italian put the spoon down and turned to face America, "Why are you here?"

"I told you, I'm just here to hang out."

"My brother and I are part of the EU," he stated, "and the G8. Our country is stable, our people are happy. We have nothing that you could possibly want. Why are you here?"

America blinked, then blinked again, and then once more. That was certainly a strange reaction. "I'm not trying to invade you, if that's what you're thinking."

"Then what the hell are you doing here? You can't possibly just want to hang out!"

"Sure I can."

"No! You can't!" Romano slammed his hands on the counter, "There's always an ulterior motive!"

The blond stared at the angry Italian before he subconsciously scratched the back of his head and looked away. "It's…embarrassing."

Romano crossed his arms and leaned back. "I think I deserve to hear it anyway, since this is my house and all that."

"Well…I just really like your smile…" he muttered as he placed his head in his hand. Eventually America peeked out of the corner of his eye to gauge Romano's reaction only to see him trying to stifle his chuckles.

"That has to be," he got out between laughs, "the most ridiculous excuse I've ever heard!"

"Maybe," and America grinned, because Romano had lowered his hand to reveal that smile he had sought after for so long, "but it's the truth."

"What's so great about my smile?" He had calmed down now, so his natural frown was back in place, but America decided that maybe if he answered that question, he could get it back.

"It's just…I don't know, perfect; it suites you. You should smile more often."

"My brother smiles enough for the both of us," Romano started rubbing at a spot on the counter, "you can just go to him…we look enough alike."

They did, and he could have, "But, there's something different about your smile. It's just, better, I guess. I mean, he smiles all the time, but you only smile around girls, so yours is more like a treasure!"

"And you hanging out with me is supposed to make me smile more?"

"Of course," America stated like it was fact.

"If I do start smiling more…you'll probably just get sick of it eventually."

"Maybe so, but I doubt that. You're smile really is gorgeous - I mean nice," he quickly amended.

Romano just smiled. America was thrilled.


	21. I Think You're Doing It Wrong

**For the Kink Meme. Prompt: **_Nation A and B are talking/doing whatever. Nation C overhears and assumes sexy tiems._

**More America/Romano for you all. And take some fake voyeur!England too.**_  
_

* * *

"The hell do you think you're doing!" England heard Romano shout.

_Funny_, the Brit thought, _that's America's office isn't it?_

Indeed, the American flag on the door clearly indicated that this was the office America used during their meetings. England was unaware America even knew where South Italy was let alone who he was, but then why would his voice come from that office?

"Relax," he heard America say, "I know what I'm doing."

"Like hell you do! I-it's too big!" Romano shouted like his life depended on it, "It's never going to fit!"

"It'll fit. Trust me, I've done this loads of times."

He shouldn't stay; he was a gentleman, and gentlemen don't listen in on these kinds of things, yet somehow England found himself leaning towards the door instead of bolting like he should have.

Behind the door there was some panting and grunting before Romano started shrieking again.

"Stop stop!" he was clearly out of breath and sounded like he was in pain, "You can't just force it in like that! God, you have no idea _what_ the fuck you're doing do you?"

"I know exactly what I'm doing," America defended, "Just trust me on this and hold on tight, kay?"

"I'm telling you, you don't! If you keep shoving it up in there something's going to break!"

"I'm sure it can take it," he insisted. Romano groaned.

Really, England hoped he taught America better than that. Not that they ah, discussed such things when he was a colony…actually, he's pretty sure France was the one who taught him about sex, now that he thought about it. Clearly the frog missed a few steps.

"I'm telling you, it can't! And I think I would know!"

"Romano, just because you're Italian doesn't mean you know everything there is to know about this," America stated in that I-Know-Everything-And-You-Don't-So-Nyeh tone that England knew all too well. His pity went out to the small Italian.

"Actually," Romano's breath sounded like it was coming in gasps at this point, "it _does_. Change of plans, America," suddenly there was a loud crash followed by the sound of several chairs and/or tables being overturned in some sort of scuffle, "_I'm_ topping."

England should leave. He told himself as much and everything. But there was something about imaging cowardly, profane Romano topping brash, young, obnoxious America into submission that forced him to lean even closer to the door.

"W-wait! Wait!" America shouted, panicking now, "this is _not_ what we agreed on!"

"Too bad. Trust me, it'll be better for both of us this way," and England could _hear_ the leer on his face, "You had your chance, and you fucked it up. Just hold on tight and let me show you how it's done… "

What followed was a series of gasps and moans and curses in both English and Italian. In all honestly, before this England never would have even assumed America and Romano would be…compatible together, but after this…

A shout of "R-Romano!" rang out from behind the door, followed shortly by the clear sound of an American collapsing on the ground.

"So?" he heard Romano say smugly, "How's that?"

"A-awesome!" America panted, "Really, I never knew you had it in you."

"Of course I did," England heard him scoff, upset that the American had doubted his prowess, "What else would you expect?"

As he heard the two nations getting up, England finally was able to pull himself away from the door and sprint down the hallway before he was found out. Besides, he had a new, pressing matter to take care of.

"It's really awesome!" America continued as he stared up at the ceiling, "And you're right, it does truly light up the room!"

"I know," Romano still had that smug grin on his face as he followed the other's gaze towards the new Italian lighting fixture he'd just installed in the office, "Don't ever doubt me again. Why did you think I could support your massive weight anyway?"

"I'm not fat," the blonde muttered as he scratched the back of his head, "And I didn't want you to electrocute yourself. There're a lot of wires up there."

Romano blushed and looked away, "S-stupid, I was fine…until you just collapsed on me at the end."

The younger nation just laughed at him, "You kept squirming around up there and kicked me in the ribs. Anyway," he quickly got on all fours and stared at him, not unlike an eager puppy, "now that you're done being my interior decorator, we can have sex now?"

The Italian rolled his eyes, but there was still a pleased smirk on his face, "Fine," swiftly, he tackled the American to the ground, "but _I'm_ topping."


	22. America's Sleepytime Adventures

**More America/Romano from the kink meme! Prompt: **_America finds someone willing to sleep with him after watching a scary movie._ **Sounds like fun yes? **

**Also has some slight Greece/Japan and France/Someone.**

**Enjoy.  
**

* * *

"E-England?" America poked the older nation as he snored on. "England?" that time was a little more urgent, "England!"

"Hm? Why yes indeed, Mr. Pumpernickel, I have already found Candy Mountain," England patted his head sleepily before rolling over again.

Crap, he fell asleep on him again. He said he wouldn't but he did. True, England had called him an idiot for trying to get through the entire Zombie Vampire Werewolf Murder Movie Marathon (but he was a hero and he had to prove Canada wrong. And he did, thank you very much) and claimed he would let the American sleep by himself that night, but he caved eventually, for which America was grateful. Except now his companion had gone off to Slumberville without him. Selfish jerk.

America gathered up the courage to leave the warmth and safety of England's bed and ventured out into the hallway. All of the nations were staying in the same hotel; _somebody_ had to still be awake and willing to sleep with him!

He knocked as quietly as he could on the door of the room he knew Japan was saying in. Japan lived on the other side of the world; surely the time difference meant he was still awake.

"America-san!" Japan whispered as he answered the door. "What is it? Don't tell me…you went through with it, didn't you?"

America whined and nodded. "Um…can I sleep with you?"

The small Asian blushed and stammered out, "I d-don't think that would be a good idea…"

"Who is it Japan?" a sleepier than normal Greece yawned from inside the room.

"It's just America. Go back to sleep, I'll be there soon."

"Oh," the blonde nation said as it finally dawned on him, "Greece is sleeping with you tonight."

Japan went even redder. "Y-yes, that appears to be the case…"

"Got room for one more?" America grinned at his friend.

"No." The door was unceremoniously shut in his face.

Not one to give up, America headed down the hall to Lithuania's room. The dude worried so much he was probably still awake.

"Mr. America?" he asked in a hushed tone, "Is something wrong?"

"Uh…is it alright if I sleep with you tonight?"

Lithuania seemed taken aback by that at first before he remembered something and America's words clicked, "Oh, did you watch another scary movie?"

He nodded guiltily and bit his lip as he waited for the other nation's response.

"Sorry, Mr. America, but…" Lithuania opened the door a little wider so the light from the hallway fell on his bed where Estonia and Latvia were curled up, fast asleep, "Latvia had a nightmare, so Estonia and I were comforting him until he fell asleep. I don't think you'll be able to fit…"

"Ah, that's alright. I understand," he smiled as his friend regretfully shut the door. Lithuania needed to spend more time with his brothers after all. Speaking of which, America had a brother too didn't he?

Canada was staying at the end of the hallway, which meant he had to walk down the dark, creepy hallway with who knows what waiting to jump out and feast on his innards. Being the hero that American was though, none of this bugged him at all. He certainly didn't jump and squeal in terror at the moans that were coming from France's room. It's not like he assumed the Frenchman was being attacked by ghosts or anything…it was just France, so when he decided to sprint the rest of the way to Canada's room, that wasn't out of terror, that was just to get away from France. Yes, that was it.

Eventually America did reach his brother's room, and knocked on the door, and was greeted by his sleepy brother.

"Wuzzit?" the Canadian yawned.

"Can I sleep with you?" America asked, ignoring the high pitched sound in his voice.

"You a-actually went through with it?" Canada asked as he stifled a yawn. His brother nodded, "Alright, come on in." Feeling much better already, America bolted inside and jumped on the bed.

"We've still got a meeting tomorrow, so let's just get to sleep," the other nation muttered as he too climbed into the bed.

"Y-yeah…" America pulled the blankets up further around himself as he tried to nod off to sleep. Suddenly there was a sharp tapping sound that could either be murderous ghosts or the wind.

"What was that?" he whispered to his brother, who just continued snoring lightly in his ear. "Canada? Canada, wake up! You can't sleep before me!"

"M'wake…" he muttered before rolling over and going back to sleep.

"Canada? Canada!" America tried to shake his brother awake again, but it was all for naught.

Dejected, but knowing he would not be able to get to sleep at this rate, America slunk out of the room.

If friends and family were no good, he decided, than he should just randomly knock on a door and see what came up. As it turned out, Norway was staying in the room next to Canada.

"America?" he asked, confused, "What do you want? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Not a clue," he said truthfully, "Can I sleep with you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I, uh, need someone to stay awake while I fall asleep…please?" he remembered to add. People tended to be more open to this kind of thing when he said please.

Norway raised an eyebrow. "Why do you need a lookout?"

"I d-don't need a lookout! I just need someone to keep an eye on things while I go to sleep…"

The Norwegian still looked skeptical. "Alright, I was waiting up for Denmark anyway. But when time traveling monkeys come after you because you stole their sacred ruby, I'm just going to tell them where it is."

"…Norway, are you okay? You haven't been smoking anything right?"

Norway rubbed his face in an irritated fashion, "I'm just tired is all. Denmark and Prussia were supposed to be back hours ago…"

"Well, that's fine and all," America said as he entered the room and hopped into Norway's bed, "just don't fall asleep on me now, okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he yawned before turning out the light behind him, hopping into bed, and promptly falling asleep.

"Norway?" America whispered as he poked the northern nation, who just swatted his hand away and muttered something about pineapples.

The darkness and all the demons that lived in it started to creep in around America, making him feel uneasy, when the door burst open and the lights were turned on by a drunken Denmark.

"Yo, Norge, sorry m'late, I was just…" he stopped when he saw the other two nations in bed together. Maybe Denmark would stay awake until America fell asleep…

"Norway!" Denmark shouted as he shook said nation away, "Why is America in your bed?"

"Took t'long," Norway muttered, "Fell 'sleep."

"But…but…I thought you and me…"

America wasn't going to get much sleep at this rate, and he possibly might have caused a domestic incident between the two, so he quietly took his leave.

He tried two doors down on the other side of the hallway. He would have gone further, but the not-ghosts in France's room were getting louder, which mean more violent, and America would have preferred not to encounter violent not-ghosts on this outing thank you very much.

The door he did knock on happened to be Liechtenstein's.

"Mr. America?" she asked, sleepy and confused.

"Liechtenstein, um, can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Eh?" America vaguely heard the click of a gun behind him before he felt it on the back of his head.

"**What did you just ask her?**" he heard Switzerland say menacingly behind him.

"I need someone to sleep with," America repeated. "You can join us if you want."

"You've got three seconds to back away from the door," the gun pressed harder to the back of his head.

"It's kinda hard to do that when you're standing right behind me…"

"Did I ask for your excuses?"

A ghost howled (or maybe it was just the air vents in the hotel) so America heroically shielded Switzerland's body with his own by hugging him tight so the evil ghosts couldn't attack him.

"Oh," Liechtenstein yawned, "so that's all it was about," both male nations looked at her confused, "since that's settled I'll just to back to sleep now. Good night Mr. America, Brother. Don't stay up too late having fun," she smiled politely at them before shutting the door.

"What's settled?" America wondered aloud while Switzerland tried to disentangle himself from the larger nation's grip.

"N-nothing, it doesn't matter," was he blushing? He looked like he was blushing, "I think she's been spending too much time with Hungary."

"Okay," he let go of the Swiss nation before asking him, "So, can I sleep with you then?"

Switzerland looked at him funny before ramming the butt of his gun into America's stomach and walking away. So that wasn't going to work, and he was back at square one, a square that the young nation was starting to detest more and more. And was starting to hear the murderous zombies moaning outside, crawling up the sides of the building, forcing their way through so they could pin him down and suck out his and the others' brains with bending straws, leaving them mindless shells of their former selves and-

"Oi," America turned to see Romano leaning against his door, across the hall and three doors down, sipping wine, still dressed in the clothes he wore that day, "are you the bastard that's been knock knocking up and down the hallway all night while some of us are trying to sleep?"

"Yes," he answered truthfully.

"Che, figures," he sipped some more wine, "what are you doing?"

"I need someone to sleep with me. Hey, you're still awake do you mind-" just then the vicious creatures living in the hotel's vents (or maybe it was just the air conditioning) moved about, so America heroically protected Romano in a similar manner to what he did for Switzerland. The Italian somehow managed to not spill his wine.

"…Let go of me."

"Right, sorry," America complied, "So, since you're still awake and all, can I sleep with you?"

Romano blinked and stared at him like he had three heads or something. Wait, he didn't right? Wasn't that a side-effect of zombieism? America patted his head just to make sure he was still among the living.

"If you want a bed partner," Romano continued, "I'm sure France would be more than happy too-"

"France always falls asleep before me, and he's always so gropey."

"…What exactly do you want me to do?"

"Just like, stay awake until I fall asleep…please?"

"What, you afraid of the dark or something?"

"Psh, of course not," just the things that may or may not be lurking in it.

He drowned the last of his wine before replying, "Fine. My brother's in with the potato-bastard tonight anyway, so the bed's free."

"Thank you!" he smiled at him before bouncing into the room and snuggling under the covers, "You coming?" America asked as Romano closed the door.

"Yeah, hold on," the Italian set the wine glass down and took off his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready for bed," Romano answered as he started fiddling with his belt.

"What are you going to sleep naked or something?" he chuckled nervously as he looked around for pajamas that the Italian would change into.

"You mean you aren't?" he chucked the belt to the side and started fiddling with his pants.

"Wait wait! You can't come in bed naked!"

"Why not? We're not going to have sex or anything, so it's fine."

"So," America pondered, "if we were having sex, you being naked wouldn't be fine?"

"Sh-shut up! The point is we're not going to do anything but sleep, and I can't sleep with clothes on, so what's the problem!"

"But, it's awkward to have you naked sleeping next to me if you're not my lover…" America muttered, "Can't you just keep your pants on until I fall asleep?"

Romano glared it him for about ten seconds, seeming to internally debate something with himself, before scoffing out a "Fine," turning off the light, and crawling into the bed besides America.

"This is uncomfortable," he barked out after about a minute, "are you asleep yet?"

"No," the younger nation admitted as he rolled over and wrapped his arms around Romano.

"…This is not necessary."

"It'll help though," America yawned as he pulled the Italian even closer, "Why don't you tell me a story or something?"

"Once upon a time there was a stupid American who knew nothing about personal boundaries," he began, "he ended up pissing off an already aggravated Italian. The next day he got hit by a bus and died. The end."

"That was a lame story. And it needs a happy ending or I'm going to worry about it all night."

"Let me go and I'll sing you a lullaby."

"Really?" he immediately let go, "Go ahead; I've never heard you sing before."

Romano coughed and sat up. He might have blushed too, but it was too dark to tell. He did feel a bit warmer though, "I can only sing in Italian though, so don't bitch to me about not understanding anything."

America nodded. He'd never tell the other nations because he liked listening to what they had to say when they didn't want them to hear him, but because of his large immigrant population, he could pretty much understand just about all of their languages. Speaking them did give him a headache though, so he preferred speaking in English.

Romano cleared his throat again before singing, in a surprisingly soothing tone, considering it was _Romano_:

"_Stella stellina  
La notte si avvicina,  
La fiamma traballa,  
La mucca é nella stalla._

"Che, this is pointless…" he muttered.

"No s'not," America grabbed him around the waist again and pulled him close. This time he just went with it, "keep goin'," the American muttered, half awake.

Romano sighed, and pulled off the idiot's glasses to place them on the nightstand before continuing:

"_La pecora e l'agnello,  
La vacca col vitello,  
La chioccia coi pulcini,  
La gatta coi gattini,  
E tutti fan la nanna,  
Nel cuore della mamma._"

When he was done, he glanced over to see that America was fast asleep, breathing deeply and clutching at him tightly. Romano managed to escape his grasp, climb out of bed, and finally shed himself of his pants and boxers before eyeing the couch with interest. A quick glance back to the bed showed that his new roommate had replaced him with a pillow, and he knew he'd suffer a similar fate if he tried the bed again, making the couch a very good option.

For some reason though, Romano decided to crawl back into the bed and once again be trapped in America's warm embrace. He was tired, damnit, and this was his room anyway, so he should get the bed. It's not like he _enjoyed _being cuddled by America, because he didn't.

As for the American, his dreams were pleasantly zombie, ghost, monster and demon free. He should sleep with Romano more often.

* * *

-The lullaby is 'Stella Stellina' or 'Star Little Star.'

Translation:

Star, little star  
The night is approaching:  
the flame is tottering,  
The cow is in the cowshed.  
The sheep and the lamb,  
The cow with the calf.  
The hen with its chicks.  
The cat with its kittens;  
And all are sleeping in the mother's heart!


	23. 5 Times Romano Shows his LoveyDovey Side

**For the kink meme prompt: _5 times Romano showed his lovey-dovey side to someone. _**

**Yes, it's America/Romano. And there's some Gertalia in there too.  
**

**Enjoy.  
**

**

* * *

I**

America woke up to the smell of bacon. Normally this would mean Canada was cooking breakfast, which is always a perk of staying at Canada's house, but as America opened his eyes, he found out that he was actually in Romano's room. That made no sense, as Romano _never_ bothered to cook him breakfast, complaining that he always ate too much when lunch was only in a few hours anyway.

Slowly, he threw some pants on and made his way to the kitchen to investigate the phenomenon of bacon at Romano's house. Maybe England was staying over too and America just forgot about it?

But no, standing at the stove when America finally entered the room, was Romano, who was not only making him bacon, but eggs as well. That was…strange. Romano absolutely hated putting forth effort into something he didn't need, and considering the Italian only had some weird pastry and a espresso for breakfast, making a real American breakfast for America always went under "things you can fucking do yourself bastard."

"Oh, you're up?" Romano turned to face him, and America was able to appreciate the fact that he still hadn't put a shirt on yet. Yes, his shirtless lover was standing in the kitchen, cooking bacon. Clearly the world was scheduled to end soon and no one felt the need to inform him.

"Yeah…are you making breakfast?"

"Sit down;" Romano nodded at an empty space at the table, "I'm almost done."

America did as he was told. He probably angered the Italian last night in his sleepy haze and he was buttering him up before cruelly driving a knife threw his heart or something. At least that's how it usually happened in the movies.

"Here," Romano placed a plate full of bacon and eggs in front of him, as well as a glass of orange juice, before grabbing his own pastry and espresso and sitting across from him. "Aren't you going to eat?" he complained after America just stared at him for a bit, "I haven't poisoned it you know."

The blonde nation wasted no time snatching his fork from the table and shoveling as much as he could into his mouth. "Mmmmm mmm mm-"

"Chew. Swallow. Then try speaking," he interrupted, "jerk."

"This tastes different," America stated after he complied, "not necessarily bad, just different."

"Probably because it's _not_ slathered in grease," the Italian declared, "and you better appreciate that."

He did, well partly. It did taste better with the grease but it was nice Romano was concerned about his health, he supposed. "Aren't you going to eat some?" America asked, because it was strange for Romano to not eat even part of something he cooked.

But the Italian just shook his head. "Lunch is in a few hours," he lifted his pastry thing, "this will tide me over until then."

"Oh," America pushed the eggs around his plate.

"Something wrong?" Romano asked as he sipped his espresso.

"No, just…you never really cook me breakfast. Did I forget an anniversary or something?"

"No…it's just," he put his cup down and started picking at the handle as a blush crept across his face, "well, you got in late last night, and with the jet lag and everything…I just wanted to let you sleep in and everything…"

America couldn't help but smile at that, which deepened the blush. Romano was never very good at expressing himself, which America could understand, after all, he was raised by England, the master of that art, so when he did do things like this, it made the American ridiculously giddy.

"Sh-shut up! Bastard," Romano muttered as he continued sipping his drink, "I-if I didn't make you something than you would have been bitching about it all day…"

He said nothing and continued eating his meal, the knowledge that it was made (reluctantly) with love making it taste that much better.

**

* * *

II**

The picnic was America's idea. It was be a nice treat for the two of them after a long week of meetings and such. Besides, he knew deep, deep down, Romano wanted the picnic too, even if he never would actually come out and say it as such. Despite that, Romano insisted that he cooked all the food for them and that America _didn't touch anything because he has no idea what he's doing_, and the American was happy to comply.

Romano picked out the spot too, and didn't tell America about it before hand, insisting that it was supposed to be a surprise, which was fine. America liked surprises, well, the good kind of surprises, but the Italian had left him with no reason to believe that this was to be the bad kind of surprise, so he went with it.

America was forcefully dragged by his hand from the car after Romano had parked it towards…somewhere, he still didn't know, but he could smell the ocean.

"Romano…"

"No talking!" the Italian snapped back, so he shut his mouth.

They hadn't passed any people, so just when it was reaching the point that America was starting to think that Romano had finally grown tired of him and was taking him to the middle of nowhere to kill him off, Romano stopped.

"Here," he dropped the picnic basket he was holding on the ground and turned to face America, pink dusting across his cheeks, "I-is this fine?"

They were on a small, secluded cliff, overlooking the ocean. The sun was still high in the sky, reflecting off the bluest water America had ever seen. He could look over the side of the cliff and see straight down into the ocean and at all of the various forms of sea life that laid in it.

"It's perfect," he kissed Romano's cheek, which went even redder, before the Italian turned away to set up their blanket and food, which somehow ended up being all hamburgers and hotdogs.

He still hadn't let go of America's hand.

**

* * *

III**

Romano wasn't a fan of public displays of affection, so he and America only went out as a couple every now and then. It was even rarer still that the two of them did things with other couples, but apparently his brother had insisted, so America found himself sitting next to Germany waiting for their Italians to get them ice cream.

"So…here we are," America said to break the silence.

"It seems so," Germany replied, followed by more awkward silence.

"So how's yours in bed, because mine's pretty awesome and honestly, I think we should compare notes."

This caused the German to turn beet red and stammer out a "Wh-what?" just before Romano and Veneciano came back with the ice cream.

"Germany! Germany!" the younger Italian called out, "I got you pistachio! Oh, but I wanted to make sure it was the right one, so I tried a little bit. Don't worry, it is," he smiled as he handed over the cone, "But, since I ate some of yours, you can try some of mine."

"That's alright, Italy," he said as he took his ice cream, "I'm not a fan of…vanilla. You can have yours."

"Ve, Germany's so thoughtful…"

"A-America…" said nation turned to see his lover blushing and holding out his strawberry cone, "I got you your favorite…"

"Thanks babe," America took his ice cream and leaned in for a kiss, which Romano surprisingly allowed, before scooting over on the bench so the Italian would have room to sit next to him, but was surprised again when he instead placed himself in the American's lap. Veneciano was already seated in Germany's.

"Germany!" he shouted, "How's your ice cream?"

"It's fine…a-are you sure you wouldn't rather sit on the bench? There's plenty of room."

"No, I'm good!"

"Italy, you uh…have some on your face."

"Really?" he darted his tongue out to try and tried to lick it up, but missed, "Did I get it?"

"Here…" Germany grabbed a napkin from his pocket and wiped it up for him.

"Thanks Germany!" Veneciano smiled when the napkin was pulled away and leaned forward to kiss the now blushing German's cheek.

"A-America…" the nation in question turned his blue eyes towards Romano, "you have some on your face…"

"Oh," America wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

"You missed…here," the Italian on his lap proceeded to place kisses around his mouth, targeting the frozen treat still on his face.

"Thanks!" America went on eating his ice cream.

"Germany…" Veneciano whined after he finished off his ice cream, "I'm tired," the Italian leaned his head against his lover's shoulder and kissed his neck.

"I-I suppose I could carry you…" he mumbled and blushed as he too finished off his treat.

"Ve, Germany, you're the best!" the Italian shouted as he threw his arms across the German's shoulder and kissed his cheek, "Thank you!" he exclaimed as Germany stood up and let the other man climb on his back.

"Hey," Romano, who had finished off his chocolate ice cream, wrapped his arms around America's neck and proceeded to nuzzle it, "I'm sleepy."

"Oh?" America looked at him expectantly until the Italian rolled his eyes.

"Will you carry me?"

"Well if you want me too," the blond tossed the remainder of his ice cream in his mouth and scooped Romano up bridal style. "Is this fine?" he asked with a smirk.

"Of course…" Romano mumbled as he tightened his grip on America's neck and buried his face in his shirt, "Thanks."

"No problem babe," he leaned down and kissed the top of his head, causing the Italian to blush, "just, you don't have to act like your brother. You're cute enough as it is."

Instead of the punch he was expecting, America received a half hearted "Idiot" and a kiss on the cheek.

**

* * *

IV**

America tightened his grip on Romano and tried to banish the image of killer ghosts tearing out organs to watch their victims bleed out as the two of them tried to fall asleep.

"Oi can't breathe here…" the grip relaxed slightly only to be replaced by a soft whine, "…you're that scared? It wasn't a very scary movie."

"I-I know that…" America muttered into his shoulder, "I just…want to make sure you're okay…"

"I'm fine bastard. You're the one shaking like a leaf."

"…It's cold."

"We're in Sicily. In the middle of summer," this only made America pull him closer, "…that movie really scared you that much?"

"No…" a gentle breeze caused a tree branch outside to lightly scrape the window, which made America jump, "Wh-what was that?"

"The wind, dumbass," this only caused the other nation to shake even harder. "You want me to…get you milk or something to help you sleep?"

"No!" He squeezed his Italian even tighter, "Y-you can't leave me! What if it gets you?"

"It's not going to get me, because it doesn't exist."

"Y-you can't know that for sure…" America muttered into his back, "and I don't want to lose you just in case."

Romano blushed…because it was _hot_, damnit, not because of what his lover said. Even so, he managed to turn around in America's embrace so he was facing him and grabbed his face in both his hands.

"Nothing's going to hurt us," he whispered and drove that point home with a kiss.

"But, in the movie-"

"Shh," he hushed as he kissed the other nation's forehead, "It was just a movie. It's not real.

"…You sure?"

"Positive," he blushed even deeper and kissed America's ear as he whispered, "I-I'll stay up and keep a lookout until you fall asleep. I…uh," Romano squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed to admit the next part, "I…don't want anything to hurt you either."

He opened an eye to see that America had already fallen into a peaceful sleep in his arms.

**

* * *

V**

"Romano?" America asked as he peeked into the nation's living room only to find his lover sprawled out on the couch, sleeping. Of course he would be there; it was three o'clock, siesta time.

Smiling slightly the American wandered over to kneel next to the Italian and watch him sleep. He always liked watching Romano sleep; he was far more relaxed then he was when awake.

"Hm," Romano muttered as he curled up and turned over in his sleep so he was facing America, who took advantage of his unconscious state to lightly pet his head, an action that would normally have received a head butt and a "Bastard!"

"'Merica…" he heard him mutter. America froze, afraid he'd been caught, but it became clear that Romano was still sleeping, just dreaming. Dreaming about _him_. America couldn't help but feel some sort of warm fuzzy feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"America…" Romano repeated as he unknowingly nuzzled against his lover's hand, "Miss you."

"I miss you too," America whispered in his ear as he leaned forward to kiss his forehead, "I'll see you soon."

"Wanna see you now…" Romano's hand slowly moved up until it touched America's on his head.

"I'll be here soon," he whispered as he interlocked their fingers and lightly kissed the Italian's knuckles, "Maybe I'll be here by the time you wake up."

"Better be…bastard," Romano muttered before he pulled America's hand to his lips and kissed that as well. The "…love you," came out as an exhale across his knuckles but America still heard it and treasured it, because he knew Romano would never have admitted that that easily if he was awake.

He decided to reward him with a light kiss on his cheek so as not to awake him, "Love you too."


	24. Hero's Day Off

**Yes, it's that time again: More America/Romano from the kink_meme! Whoo! *tosses confetti* **

**Prompt: **_Someone [Romano] calls someone else [New Zealand] their hero. America gets jealous._

**Enjoy.**_  
_

* * *

America stood patiently by the stairs outside the meeting building, waiting for Romano to come out. He had to talk with his brother about some things and had asked America to just wait for him outside, because it was rather distracting having him sit there whining the whole time. But now America was bored and hungry and Romano was taking so long and-

Romano came out of the building, looking grumpier than normal, and made a beeline straight for America, who eagerly grabbed his hand and kissed his cheek.

"You ready to go?" he asked with a smile plastered on his face.

"Yeah," Romano sighed. The two of them took three steps away from the building before the Italian plunged a hand into his pockets frantically. "Shit…"

"What's wrong?"

"I left my phone in the meeting room…if I go back inside I'll have to deal with even more fucking politicians…"

Just as Romano was about to resign himself to a night completely ruined, Australia and New Zealand exited the building, and upon spotting the irate Italian, New Zealand immediately walked over.

"Oh, Romano! I was hoping I'd catch you," he said as he approached, "Is this your phone? I found it upstairs."

"Yeah, it is," Romano took the small red flip cell, complete with his tomato phone charm, from the island nation's hand. "Thanks Australia, you're a real hero you know?"

"That's not Australia," America corrected, "its Canada." And did Romano just call Canada his hero?

"Actually I'm New Zealand…" So Romano called New Zealand his hero? Romano shouldn't need Canada or New Zealand or Australia to be his hero. Why should he when he was dating America?

"Sorry. Thanks again New Zealand," Romano smiled as he put his cell in his pocket. America glared at the island nation and tugged his Italian closer.

"No problem!" He waved before running back to his waiting brother, America glaring at the back of his head all the while, only turning away when he felt the poking at his ribs.

"Bastard, I'm hungry. Let's go eat already."

* * *

All throughout diner, America was distracted. Romano may have noticed, but it wasn't in his nature to ask if anything was wrong and instead opted to just become even grumpier than before and demand that his American take him home early.

Even back at America's house, those words still haunted him.

_You're a real hero, you know?_

What was so great about New Zealand anyway? Just because he got some stupid phone? America could have done that, in fact, he was on his _way_ to do that for Romano, New Zealand just got there first.

"Hey," America looked up from his inner musings to find Romano standing across the kitchen counter not making eye contact, "A-are you…" he got inexplicably red and sighed before turning around, "fuck it. I'm going to bed. Feel free to join me when you're done brooding." He sighed and stomped his way upstairs to America's bed.

That's right, _America's_ bed, not New Zealand's bed, because in the end, Romano went home with him, not Canada down under. What could New Zealand offer Romano that America couldn't give him anyway? He had nothing besides sheep. America had sheep too…somewhere. He was sure they were still around.

Yeah, America was an awesome boyfriend, and he wasn't going to lose out to some sheep! Hell he'd invent a cell phone that never left Romano's pocket to prove how much of a hero he was, that Romano didn't need New Zealand around when America was just so much better. It's not like Romano was just going to up and leave him for New Zealand because of that…

"_N-New Zealand, wait up a moment please!" Romano ran up to him after the meeting and stopped in front of the other nation, slightly red and panting._

"_What do you want?" New Zealand asked as he put on his sunglasses._

_Romano stared up at him with his bright green eyes. "I-I was just super impressed by your phone-retrieval skills, a-and I realized that I love you! I love you so much Australia!"_

"_New Zealand," the island nation corrected, "But I thought you and America were…"_

"_America? Who needs America when I can have a real hero like you?" unable to restrain himself anymore, Romano jumped into New Zealand's arms, "Take me away sheep boy!"_

"_With pleasure…"_

"Oof!" America's head hit the counter with a smack, bringing him out of his perverse daydreaming.

"You were growling and snarling," Tony explained as he grabbed a cola from the fridge.

"Oh…sorry about that," his alien friend nodded and muttered something before taking his leave, leaving America to deal with his thoughts.

This is all that stupid phone's fault. If only it could have just stayed in Romano's pocket where it belonged, none of this would have happened.

Quietly, so as not to wake the Italian, America snuck into his bedroom and tip toed to where Romano was already deep asleep. After gazing at his adorable sleeping face for a few seconds, the blond turned his attention to the nightstand, or more specifically, the red cell phone that lay upon it.

He quickly snatched the phone and made his way back downstairs to the kitchen, where he sat down at the table and turned the phone in his hands.

New Zealand was probably already using the cell to steal Romano away from him. The whole 'return the phone thing' was just a cover up for some dastardly plot! New Zealand wasn't a hero at all, he was the villain!

Angered by this new epiphany, America flipped the phone open, intending to interrogate it until it laid out New Zealand's plan for him, but stopped when he saw the wallpaper.

America took a lot of pictures of himself with Romano's phone, because he believed Romano should be able to look at his awesome face no matter where he was, but he knew the Italian deleted half of them. America was fairly certain he never took a picture of himself when he was sleeping. And he certainly didn't change it to Romano's wallpaper.

In the photo, America was sprawled out on Romano's bed, fast asleep. He was wearing a white t-shirt and boxers, his hair was a mess, his mouth was ajar, and his arm and leg were dangling off the bed, but with the early morning Italian sun hitting him…

"Wh-what are you doing with my phone?" Romano shouted from the kitchen entryway, where he stood wearing a pair of America's boxers. America turned around in time to see him stomp over and snatch it away, blushing madly and refusing to make eye contact.

"Sorry, I was just looking…" an awkward silence descended upon the room before America broke it, "So when did you-"

"I didn't! I-it was…Spain…"

"Spain broke into your house and took a picture of me when I was sleeping with your phone? That's really creepy…"

"Y-yeah, well…I-I suppose he thought it was…cute, or something…" he cradled his phone closer to his chest as if afraid America would snatch it away from him.

"He shouldn't be breaking into your house to take pictures of me. I'll go have a talk with him about that."

"No!" Romano's eyes grew wider as he clutched the phone even tighter, "It's fine! I don't care!"

"Well I do. The only one I don't mind taking pictures of me when I'm asleep is you." America stood up to go give Spain a piece of his mind, time difference be damned, but a hand tugged on his shirt and made him stop.

"D-don't be stupid…Spain obviously didn't take it."

"It was France wasn't it?" America asked accusingly, "Or your brother! I always thought he was a closet pervert…" that earned him a whack on the arm.

"Don't compare Veneciano to one of those krauts!"

"It was New Zealand wasn't it?" Yes, America could see it now. Romano letting New Zealand into his house while America was still sleeping upstairs so they could-

"No? Where did that come from?"

"Well someone had to take the picture, and when I find out who it was…" America glared threateningly towards the kitchen door, as if the perpetrator would walk right through the door at that very moment so he could kick his, or her (he wouldn't put this past Hungary) ass.

"Stop being paranoid!" Romano shouted before he turned to look anywhere but America's face. "I-it was me…" he muttered eventually.

"So it was you," America visibly relaxed, "Why did you…?"

"B-because…" he flipped open his phone again and just stared at it for a bit, "I l-like being able to look at you when you're not with me, and you were kinda cute that morning and god, I sound just like Spain!" he shut the phone and leaned against the wall, "My life has hit a new low."

"It's a cute low," America leaned in and kissed his forehead, "But, you miss me? Even if I can't get your phone for you?"

Romano raised an eyebrow, "I don't know what that has to do with anything, but…yeah. Sometimes. Not because of you though, I have my own reasons for missing you."

"Of course," he planted another kiss on the Italian's head, "I miss you too, you know."

"I know," Romano grabbed the American's hand and dragged him upstairs, "Now can we please go to bed? I…its cold out, and I need your body heat."

"Whatever you say, Romano." That's right, _America_ was going to Romano's bed, _America_ was the one Romano missed, and _America_ was Romano's phone's wallpaper.

Suck on that New Zealand.


	25. On Love and the New World

**I...never put this here did I? orz**

**For the kink meme prompt: _Nation B (as a child) [America] meets Nation A [Romano] for the first time. Nation B quickly forms a crush on Nation A and tries to get their attention (like giving them flowers and such)._**

**Pairings: America/Romano.**

**Enjoy.  
**

* * *

"Spain!" Romano shouted, "I'm bored! This place is boring. Why are we here damnit?"

His caretaker just chuckled, "I told you Romano, we're on vacation at one of Boss's summer homes."

"Well, I'm bored," he pouted, "Take me back to Europe bastard."

"But Romano, look!" the Spaniard gestured wildly at the stunning scenery around them, "Isn't this place beautiful? I've been so busy lately and haven't been able to spend much time with you, so now we can finally have our relaxing Boss-Henchman Vacation! Isn't that great?"

Romano pouted and looked away. That was bullshit; he had heard stories of the small child roaming around these parts that everyone wanted a piece of. The fact that England was currently busy with other matters made their reason for being here all the more obvious.

"Come on Romano," Spain held out his hand to his little henchman, "Let's do some exploring!"

Reluctantly, Romano grabbed his hand and let himself be led away.

* * *

Three days later, Spain and Romano were fishing when Romano spotted a golden head peeking at them through the bushes. His reaction was to, logically, scream for Spain.

"Gah! Spain! There's a monster in the bushes!"

The head shrunk away as the elder nation looked over at the commotion. "What's wrong Romano?"

"There was…" he tried to think of something to excuse his actions, "a big green thing over there…with fangs. It looked like France."

Spain looked at him, confused, before glancing over at the bushes again, "An alligator maybe? Well, it's not there now…"

"I want to do something else now damnit," Romano pouted. His caretaker gently patted his head.

"Okay, the fish aren't biting today anyway," he grabbed the boy's hand and led him away.

Romano couldn't help a curious glance over his shoulder, and briefly saw a pair of blue eyes looking at him before they disappeared into the bushes as well.

* * *

The next day, Spain had to attend a meeting with the governor, leaving Romano in the summer home to tend to his own devices. Not wanting to deal with the servants looking down on him, he opted to wander around outside.

"So much for a vacation," he muttered, "Stupid Spain, you don't work on vacation damnit! Everyone knows that."

Romano wandered about and inwardly cursed everything around him until eventually he looked up and realized he had no clue where he was or which direction he came from.

"This is all Spain's fault, that bastard…" he started wandering even further into the untamed wilderness. "Damnit Spain! Notice I'm missing and come save me!"

The small nation continued wandering around the increasingly intimidating landscape until night fell. The moon and stars came out and shone bright enough for him to be able to see where he was going, but he was panicking by now, trying to keep moving in an attempt to calm down, but in actuality running in circles.

"Spain! This isn't funny anymore! Where are you?" he shouted, and stopped suddenly when he heard a low growl.

"S-Spain?" Romano didn't think it was Spain, since he never heard the nation growl before, but it was either him or an alligator, and he really didn't want it to be the latter. Unfortunately, fate didn't like Romano very much.

"N-nice Gator…" he said as he backed away slowly, "I don't know what you've heard, but Italians actually taste like shit…and are bad for the digestion…"

The alligator continued to stare at him, mouth slowly opening to show off its rows of teeth. Romano closed his eyes and shuddered. At that moment, he tripped on a rock behind him, falling flat on his back, and the alligator lunged at him.

_So this is how it all ends_, Romano found himself thinking, _eaten by an alligator in New Spain…stupid Spain…_

"Why don't you save me, damnit?" he cried out.

The alligator bypassed Romano, instead opting to attack a blonde head of hair that appeared just behind him. He could only sit there and watch as the small boy was torn apart by those vicious teeth, screaming in unbearable pain all the while. And by torn apart by teeth, he meant nuzzled by the snout, and by screams, he meant laughter.

Wait a moment…

"Hey!" Romano shouted, causing the alligator to turn and the boy to look up at him, puzzlement clear in his blue eyes, "Why aren't you being eaten?"

The boy and the alligator turned and looked at each other before staring at Romano again. "Why would he eat me?"

"Because it's an alligator and that's what alligators do! They eat people!"

The boy laughed at him, "He's not going to eat me. He already ate earlier."

The alligator growled softly as if giving it's conformation before slinking back into the shadows from whence it came, leaving Romano lost and alone with the strange boy.

The boy was staring at him with those big, blue eyes of his, making Romano feel uncomfortable, especially the way he was smiling at him.

"W-who are you?" Romano demanded.

The boy pointed at himself at replied, "I'm America. I'm under British rule. Who are you?"

"Romano. Romano Italy. I'm under Spanish rule."

"Spain?" America asked curiously, "Doesn't he like to spank little kids?"

"W-what? That's ridiculous. Where did you hear that?"

"England told me, and England wouldn't lie to me."

"Well, I heard England's nothing but a no good lousy pirate," Romano smirked, glad to get the upper hand, but regretted it once he saw the look on the boy's face.

"W-where did you hear that?" he asked.

"…Spain told me," he admitted after an awkward pause.

"Oh," America's smile was back, which made Romano happy for some reason, but still a little uncomfortable by the whole thing.

"Well, uh…I better get going…"

"Back to Spain's house?" Romano was probably just imagining the disappointment in his voice.

"Y-yeah…see you around," he turned off in a random direction and started walking.

"Isn't Spain's house in the other direction?" America shouted after him, causing the Italian to freeze and turn around to stomp off in the other direction.

"I knew that!" he snapped.

"Do you need me to walk with you?" the boy asked, causing Romano to freeze again.

"I don't _need_ you to walk with me," he snapped again, "but…if you happen to come in the same direction as me, then there isn't really much I can do about that."

"Okay!" America smiled at him and ran to catch up. They spent most of the walk in silence, though every now and then America would point out a plant or an animal that was native to these parts and explain it to Romano, who promptly forgot everything. Eventually, with the boy's helpful guidance, they safely reached Spain's summer house.

"So, uh," Romano shuffled awkwardly, "I guess I should get going…"

America surprised him by wrapping his arms around Romano's waist and squeezing him tight in what could possibly be taken for a hug.

"C-can I come visit you tomorrow?" he looked up and asked.

"Uh…" Spain said he wouldn't be back until the day after, so, "sure, I guess…"

America smiled again, giving Romano that same uncomfortable feeling he'd been getting all night, "Great," he gave the Italian one last squeeze before pulling away and vanishing into the night.

* * *

Romano spent most of the afternoon outside in the garden, _not_ because he was waiting for America damnit. He just wanted to be outside. Stop looking at him like that.

America did show up eventually, this time with a rabbit trailing not too far behind him and a rose in his hand, which he offered to Romano.

"What's this for?" he asked.

The boy just smiled, "It's for you," he stated, in case it wasn't obvious enough.

Che, the idiot probably didn't even know what the red rose meant, but he took the offering anyway, causing America to smile and that uncomfortable feeling to return again.

They sat in Spain's garden in silence for a while, Romano glaring at America and America just smiling and playing with his rabbit friend.

"So, what do you want?" the Italian finally asked him.

"I wanna play with you," America said with that smile on his face.

"No seriously kid, what do you want?"

The boy looked confused and stood to walk over to Romano and grab his hands, tugging him into a standing position as well. Romano looked suspiciously at him while he guided him out of the garden and off of the grounds, back into the wilderness where they had first met.

"Wh-where are you taking me?" the Italian asked.

"My house," America answered, "so we can play! Since you don't seem to want to play at Spain's house and England might get mad if I'm there too long."

"What?" Romano dug his heels into the ground, stopping their movement and forcing America to turn around and face him, confusion clear in his bright blue eyes, "I can't go to your house!"

The boy tilted his head to the side, "Why not?"

"Because," was this kid for real? "I'm a Spanish territory!" Romano declared, pointing at himself for emphasis, "I can't go to an English house…"

"But, England isn't there," America looked away for half a second before meeting Romano's eyes again, "I-it should be fine…right?"

Romano recognized the look on his face. It was a bit similar to the one he may or may not get whenever Spain leaves for an extended period of time. Not necessarily because he misses him, just it gets lonely being in that big house by himself sometimes…

"W-we can…play at Spain's house…if you want. Since Spain isn't home yet and stuff."

America smiled up at him, "Yeah, okay!" and led the way back to the summer house.

They ended up spending the whole day together, until well after the sun set.

"Um, can I come see you tomorrow?" the young colony asked hopefully as he snuck out the back of the garden to go back to his house in British America.

Spain probably would take his sweet time, and wouldn't be back until night, so, "If you want to…"

America smiled at him, starting up that weird feeling again, before sneaking out through the garden and disappearing into the night.

* * *

Good to his word, America showed up in Spain's garden the next day, this time with a necklace, a stone heart-shaped pendant attached to a string really, to present to Romano, who accepted it and placed it around his neck, not to make America happy, of course, but because free stuff is fun. It probably didn't mean anything anyway.

They played around in the garden again all day, until Spain announced that he was back from his trip, by sneaking up behind America, scooping him up into his arms, and hugging him close.

"Oh aren't you just the cutest little colony ever," he sighed as said colony started to struggle to get away, "You must be the America I've heard so much about, _si_?"

"Y-yeah…" he responded, nervously looking between Spain and Romano.

"Ah, how adorable! Say, since you're here and everything, would you like to become my little henchman too?"

"I don't think England would like that very much," he admitted.

"But it would be so fun! I could take you back to my house in Europe, and-"

Romano saw red at that, and expressed his frustration by kicking his caretaker in the shin, causing him to drop America.

"Romano!" he scolded, "That's not very cute at all!"

"B-bastard!" the small Italian shouted. He wasn't crying; he just had something in both his eyes is all. Probably was allergic to stupid Spaniards.

"Romano, what's wrong?" said Spaniard knelt down to comfort his little henchman. Romano noticed America give him one last look and a small smile of thanks (which did _not_ make his heart beat a little faster) before slipping away, probably to head back to his own house.

"What's wrong with me bastard," he muttered to respond to Spain's question, "Why do you need him?"

"Romano…" Spain got that look in his eyes whenever he'd try to hug Romano, which is exactly what happened, "You'll always be my precious little henchman, but wouldn't it be fun to have more little henchmen for you to play with everyday?"

Now that the bastard mentioned it, playing with America everyday would be not that bad, but it's not like the kid would ever think about leaving England.

"Bastard," Romano muttered into his caretaker's shoulder, "He'd never go with you. You spank little kids."

"Eh? I do?" the Italian pulled away to see Spain looking horrified by that statement, "I must be some sort of monster…I'm so sorry Romano!" he squeezed his henchman all the tighter, "I'm sorry I ever hit you!"

There was only one thing to say to this kind of behavior, "Spain, you're an idiot."

* * *

Two days later, England inexplicable showed up at the summer house, looking for a fight. Apparently America had told him about the attempted kidnapping thing, and the Empire wasn't pleased in the slightest. He and Spain went upstairs and had a shouting match, involving some very colorful words in both Spanish and English, before England eventually stormed out, frustrated.

They went back to Europe the next day.

Romano and America didn't see each other again until after World War I, but that's another story…

* * *

Romano yawned and stretched after Germany finally dismissed them. God that potato head could go on and on about things nobody cares about.

"Hey Romano," speaking of idiots who could go on and on, "I need to talk to you for a bit," America pulled out and sat down in the now empty chair next to him.

"Can it be quick?" Romano asked, "It's almost siesta time."

"I just need you sign a few trade things," he said, placing said papers in front of the Italian, "No biggie, right?"

"Can't Veneciano do this?" he whined, causing the American to chuckle.

"He's, uh, busy right now. Your signature's fine."

Romano grumbled a bit more, but ended up pulling out his pen anyway and signing the stupid documents quickly.

"There? Can I go now?" he pushed the papers back at America, but realized the blond nation wasn't paying attention to them anymore, instead staring at his chest area. Or more accurately, the necklace he was wearing.

"Hey, what are you-" Romano sputtered out as the other nation grabbed at the little stone heart around his neck.

"Isn't this…didn't I make this for you a really long time ago?"

"Maybe," yes, that's the one, "I'm not sure," he didn't know America made it, just assumed he found a perfectly heart-shaped stone somewhere, "I-I just found it in some old things this morning and felt like wearing it," more like he's been wearing it ever since he first put it on, just usually keeping it under his shirt.

"Oh, really?" the younger nation's eyes grew distant and his lips quirked up in a smile, a smile that still made the Italian feel all fuzzy and uncomfortable. Suddenly he came to himself, blushed, and let go of the necklace to pull away from Romano, coughing awkwardly as he did so. "W-well it's nice, that you kept it for all those years, I mean."

"I didn't keep it," America was just a child then, a young colony, practically a baby, he had no idea what those things meant, "I just…didn't lose it," so why was he blushing now?

"That's still…nice," he flashed Romano one of _those_ smiles before quickly getting up, "A-anyway, I've gotta go, and you need your siesta right? See you around!" America shouted over his shoulder as he speedily left the room.

"Wh-what the hell was that about?" Romano muttered as he rested his head on the conference table. There was no way America could actually…

"Ve, Romano," he felt his brother lightly shake his shoulder, "Are you sleeping here? You're always grumpier when you sleep at the meeting table…"

"I'm not sleeping," Romano said, "I'm just…thinking."

"Oh? About what?"

"…Nothing."

"Ve, well, since you're done, can we go? I've been waiting for you since the meeting left out and I really want to go home and eat something before siesta time because Germany was going to take me out tonight and-"

"Shut up idiot!" Romano snatched his jacket from the back of his chair and stormed out the door, brother following cheerily behind him, "We're leaving now!"

There was…no way America could actually _like _him like that…was there?

* * *

**Some Reference Notes** (you may skip these if you want):  
-America is indeed Chibimerica.  
-As for Romano, he's still a young child. Older than America, yes, but still young. Human age wise about 6-12. We're in the 17th-18th century. Why you ask?

Well, if you want to play the "When in History are We?" game:  
-Spain started colonizing Florida in 1565. He loses it to England in 1763, gets it back in 1783, and sells it to America in 1819.  
-England starts colonizing North America in the early 17th century, with his first successful colony at Jamestown in 1607. He loses his holdings in British America in 1776, when the 13 colonies do that whole revolting thing.  
-Boss Spain losses control of South Italy in 1713 after the War of Spanish Succession.  
-So, logically, this has to take place between 1607 and 1713.

As for the "Where are We?" game:  
-New Spain was all of Spain's territories in North America. This includes California, the American Southwest (Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico, Utah, Colorado, Texas, and Oklahoma), Mexico, Central America (minus Panama), the Caribbean, and yes, Florida. The story takes place in Spanish Florida, if I didn't make it obvious enough.  
-British America was all of England's territories in North America, including the 13 Colonies, Canada, and the Northwest Territory (modern day Ohio, Wisconsin, Illinois, Michigan, Indiana, and some of Minnesota and Pennsylvania), although Canada and the Northwest territory weren't acquired until 1763, after the French and Indian/7 Years War. After the American Revolution, Canada became British North America instead.

Sorry I bored you with all that. You may continue with your lives.


	26. All You Need Is Love

**Even more America/Romano from the kink meme. Prompt: **_Hurt/comfort, whereby one nation feels lonely/down/depressed and another nation cheers them up._

**Enjoy.**_  
_

* * *

Romano sighed as he leaned back in his seat and waited for his flight to take off. He didn't particularly mind it when the meetings were in Australia, but getting home was such a hassle. Veneciano had left the day before with Germany, Spain was planning on staying an extra night with France and Prussia, and America was flying in the opposite direction, so he was by himself on this flight, bastards.

He took a sip of his wine as he made himself more comfortable in his first class seat. Airline wine was always crap, but it was better than nothing, he supposed.

"…America's new lover?" Romano peeked out behind his seat to find that he wasn't as alone on this flight as he originally thought. Norway and Iceland were apparently taking the Sydney-London flight as well, not that Romano was much better off, as he never talked to either of them anyway. In fact he wouldn't even have bothered with eavesdropping on them if they hadn't mentioned him.

"Yeah, I heard he got one," Iceland was saying, "But I didn't hear who it was." Because Romano had requested that, instead of going to his Twitter/Facebook/Myspace and announcing their relationship to the world like America usually did, they kept it on the down low, telling only the nations/people who needed to know and no one else. Naturally, the word got around rather quickly anyway.

"Well, Denmark was talking to Prussia last night and he says that he said that Spain said that America was seeing Romano now," Norway sighed, "Of course knowing Denmark and Prussia, they were drunk at the time."

"Romano? South Italy?" Iceland asked in disbelief, "I honestly doubt that. America isn't the kind of guy to settle for someone so below his league."

America was settling for _him_? America was out of _his_ league? He was half of Italy, the nation known throughout the world for having some of the best lovers! Hell, having an Italian lover is equivalent to being in heaven! America was lucky he gave him the chance.

"That's why I was thinking they probably just got it confused," he continued, "I'm thinking he actually meant _North_ Italy."

What?

"Yeah, that makes sense," Iceland nodded in agreement, "I can see Italy fitting much better with America than Romano."

So that's what they think? That just because America and Veneciano are fucking happy balls of sunshine all the damn time they'd make a perfect lollipops and fucking rainbows couple? Shows how much those Nordic idiots know. If America was with Veneciano who would be there to yell at him for completely misreading the situation or stop the idiot from eating whatever's in front of him and getting sick?

"I know, I mean, if you were a superpower like America, why would you settle for anything less than the best you can possibly get?"

What? That was…that was…

That was exactly what Romano had been thinking ever since America first asked him out. Hearing someone else say it made it much more real. Why would a superpower like America, who could have just about any nation he wanted, settle for a walking complex like Romano? He was aggressive, rude, and a coward who's bark was much worse than his bite. America probably really wanted Veneciano as his lover instead, but decided to settle for Romano because he was always all over Germany. Everyone else in Romano's life always preferred his brother over him, why should America be any different?

Iceland and Norway's conversation switched topics as the plane took off and Romano snatched another piss poor wine when the flight attendant came by.

It was going to be a long flight back to Europe.

* * *

Romano spent most of the London-Rome flight convincing himself that America was a no good cheating bastard who was planning on leaving him at the drop of the hat for his cuter and all around better little brother, who, by the way, was also a no good cheating bastard.

These thoughts filled his mind, making him depressed and sad, which he hid behind pure rage and fury as he sped his Lamborghini through the streets of Rome and up to his house, almost crashing into the plane parked on his front lawn. As Romano got out to investigate what the hell a plane was doing on his lawn, a giant blur tackled him to the ground.

"G-Get off me! Help! Spain!" he shouted as he tried to fight off whoever it was.

"You were supposed to call me when you got to London!" oh, it was just America. Romano stopped struggling and let his (for now, at least) lover bring him into a tight hug, "I was worried! I called England and your brother but neither of them had seen you so I grabbed the first plane I could find and flew here to see if you were okay!"

He called Veneciano? That bastard…they were probably planning on running away together as soon as he left his sight! Romano mercilessly shoved him off and stomped over to his front door.

"Hey wait," America chased after him, "What's wrong? What happened? Who should I bomb to make things better?"

"Just shut up and leave me alone!" Romano screamed as he fumbled in his pocket for his keys, "Why don't you go bother my brother if you're so fucking in love with him!"

"…Who told you that?"

That was all the conformation he needed; stupid Veneciano for ruining every good thing in his life with his perfection. Romano gave up on finding his keys and leaned his head against the door as he heard that traitorous bastard walk up the steps and stand behind him.

"Does it matter? You…you're just going to walk out on me like everyone else at some point anyway. Might as well just do it now…" He wasn't crying damnit. He was still feeling the aftereffects of those onions he chopped three days ago is all, and he held onto that thought as he slowly sunk to his knees.

Suddenly Romano felt a not entirely unwelcome pair of arms around him and a head on his shoulder.

"Sure he's a nice guy, but I'm not in love with your brother, I'm in love with you," America said in his ear, "if I wanted to be with your brother, I'd be with him, but I don't. I want to be with you, and I'm not going to walk out on you," Romano felt a soft kiss on the back of his neck before he continued, "and I'm not letting you go that easily either."

"But…but…" he tried and failed to hold back his tears, not that he was crying or anything like that, "he's just…better. Why settle for me when you can do so much better?"

"Settle?" now that he was actually listening to what America was saying, he sounded confused, "Babe, do you honestly think I'm the kind of guy who would settle for anything? Ever?"

"Then why me damnit?" he pounded his fist against the other's arm, although it seemed to do nothing, "If you could have anyone in the world, why pick me? I'm useless, annoying South Italy. Nobody wants me…"

"No, that's wrong. And whoever told you that is an idiot," America pulled him closer, "You're amazing and unique and _I _want you. And if I could pick a lover out of anyone else in the world, it'd still be you babe, always."

"I-idiot," the Italian turned in his arms, wrapped his arms around America's neck, and buried his face in his shoulder, "stop calling me babe."

"Sorry babe," he chuckled, clearly not sorry at all, jerk, "So, if we're done with all that, can you make dinner? I didn't eat in DC, and I'm starving."

"Fine," Romano scoffed as stood up and searched his pockets for his keys again, "but not because you asked. I was going to do cook for myself anyway, but since you're here, you can eat with me."

"How thoughtful of you," America smiled as he stood and dug a hand into his lover's back pocket, pulling out the house keys and offering them to Romano.

"Bastard," he probably knew they were in there the whole time and didn't say anything. As he snatched them away, Romano decided he should reward America for his…key finding efforts and leaned up to sneak a kiss from him, "…_ti amo_," he muttered as an afterthought.

Blushing red, because it was hot out, damnit, he quickly turned away towards the door, but not before America was able to sneak in a kiss on the nose and an "I love you too" of his own, which certainly did not make Romano feel all fuzzy and loved.

As he got the door open and let America inside, Romano realized Norway and Iceland had no idea what they were talking about. He and America fit perfectly together, like spaghetti and tomato sauce. Sure they were probably just as messy, but Romano knew he wouldn't trade what they had for anything, and if the way America was smiling and holding him now meant anything, he wouldn't either.

Life, Romano mused, was good.


	27. If I Should Die Before I Wake

**For the kink meme prompt: Romano has a bad dream and wakes up in the middle of the night and seeks comfort from America, who doesn't respond. Or something like that.**

**Enjoy.  
**

_

* * *

Romano_

Romano peers down the dark hallway and wants to shout "What do you want bastard?" back, but finds that he can't speak.

_Romano_

Who was calling him anyway? At first it sounds like Grandpa Rome, but the more he listens the less it does. Now it sounds more like Spain

_Romano._

or his brother. Either way, the shouting is starting to get to him. He wants more than anything to tell the voice to shut up and leave him alone, but he still can't talk.

_Romano!_

It's not Veneciano anymore, and he's fed up with whoever it is. He stomps his foot on the ground and turns away, covering his ears with his hands as he resorts to willing the voice away.

_Romano_

And it seems to be working, as the voice is getting softer. It's then, of course, when he figures out whose voice it is and his opinion about it changes.

…_Romano_

Panicking now that the voice is retreating, he chases it down the dark hallway, opening every door he passes and trying to shout something–anything–to get the voice to stop disappearing and fails to do so.

…_Romano…_

The darkness surrounding him is starting to feel oppressive as he keeps chasing after the voice, keeps opening the doors and keeps trying to shout "Wait stop I'm here! Don't go!"

"_Don't leave me America!"_

The voice disappears anyway, leaving him alone in the silent hallway. He opens one last door with shaking hands and finds a well lit room with two comfortable red armchairs facing a roaring fireplace. Romano cautiously steps into the room, the door shutting behind him, to find America sitting in one of the armchairs, staring at the fire with a cold, calculating look that Romano would never usually associate with him. He steps further into the room, coming around to face him, and sees that he's also sipping red wine. America only looks up at him when he's standing right in front of him. He merely turns his gaze, cold as ice, towards Romano, waiting for him to speak.

"…America," he says when he finds his voice.

America scoffs, sips some more wine, and turns back to the fire.

_What do you want?_

It was America's voice, but colder and crueler, and it seemed to come more from the room itself than the man. Again Romano struggles to find his voice, for something to say.

"Please…don't leave," is what he finally comes up with, tears in his eyes, "Don't leave me…"

America lets out a humorless laugh and continues sipping his wine before he looks straight into Romano's eyes.

_Just who the hell are you anyway?_

Romano woke up with a start.

He leaned back against the headboard and willed himself to relax, wiping the leftover tears from the dream from his eyes.

"It's just a dream…" There was no way America would forget about him like that. Sure he wasn't the best at remembering people's names and sometimes even forgot his own brother (not that Romano remembered who he was), but he and Romano were, you know, _like_ that. No matter how big of an idiot America was, surely he was capable of remembering his own lover.

But still, the thought of those cold, uncaring eyes, of being lost and alone in the dark, of pushing America away and being unable to find him again until it's too late wouldn't leave his head.

"Hey bastard," Romano muttered, positive that his moving around had at least stirred his bed partner, "I'm hungry."

No response.

"Did you hear me?" he asked a little louder, "I said wake up and get me something to eat!"

Again, no response.

"…Please?" he tried, starting to panic now, and was only greeted by silence.

"America?" Romano hesitated and moved his hand to the other side of the bed, where there should have been a warm, sleeping America in the act of waking up to give Romano a hug and a kiss, tell him it was just a dream and that everything was alright, and go make him a sandwich.

Not that he wanted anything but the sandwich…

Not that it mattered, because the other side of the bed was empty.

Romano's gaze darted to the open window, wondering if perhaps he was mistaken and he was still in Italy after all, but the shouts coming up from the streets were in English, and the sounds of the city below had a distinct New York quality to them.

Slight aggravation about being left all alone overcoming his not-quite-panic, Romano slipped on some pants and went off to found out what happened to his lover.

The hallway was dark and creepy at this time of night, not that he was scared, or flashing back to his nightmare or anything, he was just making an observation is all. As Romano wandered down the hallway, opening random doors and finding nothing of interest behind them, his panic, despite his best efforts, increased.

Where the hell was America? What if he was hurt or sick or lost somewhere in the city? The only section of New York Romano knew was Little Italy; he'd be completely hopeless trying to find America, if said nation had taken a midnight stroll through the city. Why would he leave the apartment anyway? What were they doing before they went to sleep?

As if a sudden bolt of lightning struck him, Romano remembered the fight.

During the meeting early that day, America had been all over Vietnam. Or maybe Vietnam was all over him, either way Romano still felt justified throwing that tomato at him. America brushed it off as nothing at the time, which made Romano want to throw another tomato, but his brother had dragged him off by then. He made sure to let America have it after they got back to his place.

And America let him have it too, something about being a superpower and the responsibilities that came with it, and how he should stop overreacting when he's trying to strengthen relationships with other nations.

Romano wasn't pleased with that at all, and rightfully barricaded himself in the bedroom for the rest of the night, effectively kicking America out of his own bed.

In retrospect, not one of his more brilliant plans now that he was not-scared and all alone and needed him the most.

Romano found himself in the living room now, and jumped when he heard loud snore. Carefully he approached the couch from whence it came and discovered America, sleeping on the couch, brows furrowed in response to some random dream. Now that that mystery was solved, Romano felt himself relax slightly, not because he found America, but because it meant there wasn't some random creeper in the apartment. Clearly.

He poked his lover a few times to wake him up so he could get some food and maybe some cuddle time, but all that earned him was an annoyed swat and a grunt. In retaliation, Romano snatched the blanket he was using and pulled him to the ground, effectively waking him up.

"Attack!" America shouted and sprang up to take a defensive position, eyes darting around the room, looking for the threat. When they fell on Romano, he snorted, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and looked away. "What do you want?"

_What do you want?_ The voice that was America's yet not echoed in Romano's head.

"I…I'm hungry," he eventually said.

"Then go make yourself something to eat," America snatched up his blanket off the floor and settled back on the couch, "You've already made it very clear that you want nothing to do with me."

The cold, smirking America from his dream resurfaced in his mind, the one that pushed him away and wanted nothing to do with him. Romano was finding it just as difficult to say what he wanted to his America as it was to that one.

Instead, he opted to yank the blanket off him once more. Before America could protest, Romano fell on top of him on the couch and covered them both with the blanket.

"Romano…" America said as a warning.

"...Don't leave."

"What?"

"You heard what I said; I'm not going to repeat it!" Romano certainly wasn't blushing when he buried his face into America's chest to hide from his embarrassment, and even if he was embarrassed, that didn't mean he was blushing, because he wasn't.

America chuckled softly and wrapped an arm around him, "You know for all the annoying things you do, you do at least one cute one?"

"Not cute," he protested before pulling away and looking his lover in the eye, "And what do you mean annoying?"

He responded with a kiss to the forehead, "Did you have a bad dream or something?"

"No," he lied, "Just…your bed is cold."

"And the couch is warm?" Romano answered by wrapping his arms tighter around America. "Worth it," he heard him sigh and mutter as he returned the gesture.

"What do you mean by that?" Romano asked as America yawned.

"Nothing. G'night," he kissed his temple before snuggling against him and falling straight back to sleep.

"Hmph," Romano grunted before burrowing further into America's body heat and following him off to a nightmare-less dream land.


	28. Just Wait for the Engagement

**For the kink meme prompt: **England going all "if you every do anything to hurt him" on America's potential lover.

**Pairing: America/Romano, with England and Spain making appearances.**

**Enjoy.  
**

* * *

"And I think that would be a good place to conclude today's meeting," Germany announced as Spain and Sweden herded the flaming cattle from the meeting room, "We'll pick off where we left off tomorrow, wherever that was," he stepped down from the podium as the room was engulfed with the sound of the other nations packing up their things and chattering.

Romano wasted no time shoving his notes covered in games of hangman with Belgium into his briefcase and sprinting for the door. He had plans for tonight, big plans. After all tonight was date night, and America, finally, allowed him pick what they were going to do. For once they were going to have a romantic night that didn't involve over-processed food and murderous extra-terrestrial housemates.

"Hey Romano!" America greeted eagerly when he caught up with him in the hallway. He wasted no time in grabbing Romano's hand and kissing his cheek. "Are you ready for tonight?"

"Heh," Romano smirked, doing a very good job, in his opinion, not blushing or reacting to the displays of affection, "A bit impatient aren't we? Ready to concede that I am more romantic than you and your Hollywood could ever hope to be?"

"I still don't see why we can't just hang out at my place and watch movies like we usually do…"

"Tonight's my night to show you what _real_ romance is about, bastard."

"Who died and made you the master of romance?"

"I'm Italian. It comes with the territory."

America chuckled, but before Romano could demand to know what was so funny, a hand grabbed his shoulder, causing him to jump and scream on instinct.

"Oh, hey England!" America waved cheerfully, "What's up?"

"Very well thank you," England smiled in a way that was far too pleasant for the deadly aura he was giving off, "Can I borrow Romano for a bit? Just to talk policy and all that."

Romano gave America a look that clearly conveyed the message 'Please don't, he's going to kill me, can't you fucking see it in his eyes?' but, unsurprisingly, it went over his head.

"Sure!" he smiled that idiotic grin that would have made Romano face-palm had he not been frozen in fear, "Pick me up at six alright Romano? See ya!" he gave his lover one last kiss on the cheek, ignoring England's death glare, and left the building, leaving Romano alone in the hall with England.

"Y-You know," Romano said when he somehow found his voice, "I-if you really need to talk policy, I'm sure Veneciano is around here somewhere…"

England responded by dragging him back into the now-empty meeting room, shoving him into the nearest chair, and shutting and locking the door.

"So," England started, slowly turning around to glare at Romano, "You and America huh?"

Romano was too busy using every fiber of his being not to break down into a trembling mass of his former self to answer, not that it mattered because England continued on without waiting for his response.

"You two seem to hit it off quite well…America seems happy, at least, for now."

"H-he's usually happier when I'm a-alive, in case you were wondering…"

"America's happiness is, rather important to me you know. He smiles when he's around you... I haven't seen him smile like that…well, it's been a while."

"Ah, w-well," Romano swallowed audibly, "I-I want him happy too, Lord England."

England chuckled before taking three strides over to the chair Romano was sitting in and slammed his hands on its arms, leaning in to look the quivering nation right in the eyes, "I know how you treat your lovers, Romano Italia. I've seen the damage you've done to your previous ones," he lifted his finger and harshly poked Romano's chest with each word, "I. Will. Not. Let. You. Hurt. Him."

Romano sunk as far back into the chair as he could, threw his hands up, and recited a mantra of "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."

"He's gone through enough heartbreak as is," England hissed, "If he goes through anymore because of you, I can guarantee you will _not_ be able to out run me. There will be nowhere for you to run, nowhere for you to hide. I _will_ find you."

"I'm not I'm not I won't I won't," Romano cried.

"Of course you won't," England smirked, "Because if you make America cry, or even so much as whimper, it would make me quite upset, and when I get upset, well, I believe you're already aware of what happens to things that upset me."

Romano was very aware, if vague memories of a beaten-up Spain coming home night after night meant anything, so he could only manage to gulp and concentrate most of his willpower on not wetting his pants and screaming like a little girl.

England stood up, still smirking, and walked over to the door to unlock it, eyes never leaving Romano's, "I suggest, if you enjoy your internal organs where they currently are, you make sure he's perfectly content and happy during the time he's spending with you. Savvy?"

Through the multiple layers of pure fear that now made up Romano's psyche, he somehow managed to get his head to nod the affirmative. This seemed to satisfy England, as his smile softened, though his eyes still retained their murderous edge.

"Excellent. Glad we had this chat. If I heard correctly you're taking America out on a date tonight yes? I do hope that goes well for you…" he smiled before leaving Romano alone in the room. When he was sure England wasn't coming back, he all but passed out in the chair.

America's family was fucking crazy.

* * *

America actually had nothing better to do after the meeting and decided to wait for Romano outside the building, though he and England were taking a bit longer than he originally thought they would. It was starting to get boring, and he could only watch the people walk by for so long before – hey a squirrel!

"_Hola_ America," said nation looked up to see Spain smiling cheerfully at him, though his eyes seemed a bit…off. Oh well, it wasn't really America's problem.

"Hey Spain, what's up?"

Spain responded by grabbing his shoulder and squeezing a little tighter than usual.

"I think you and I need to have a talk…"


	29. Sealed With a Hershey's

**You get a triple dose today! The first two are America/England fics from the usxuk livejournal community's Sweethearts Week and the last one is from the kink meme! Yay!**

**Pairing: **USUK

**Enjoy.**

* * *

The alarm clock buzzing woke England up that morning. Grumbling, he smacked it to shut it up and opened his eyes to stare forlornly at the empty pillow besides him, except that it wasn't quite empty.

England picked up the Hershey Kiss that was sitting on the pillow and examined it as if it would open up and tell him exactly why it was there. It, however, wasn't talking, no matter how harsh his glare was, so he peeled the foil himself and popped the chocolate in his mouth. As he stood to throw the wrapper out, he noticed that instead of the usual brand name printed on the tiny paper that came with the Kiss, something else was written:

_Your Good Morning_

England raised an eyebrow at that, now even more confused as to why the chocolate was on his bed. That wasn't even a proper sentence, what was it supposed to mean? He put the paper on the nightstand and chose to think about it later, perhaps after a shower and some tea.

England went about his morning rituals as usual. When he came out of the bathroom he dried his hair with a towel and walked over to his wardrobe to pick out his outfit for the day, he found another Kiss. He opened and ate it only to discover that this paper said something else as well:

_Your You Look Really Good Just Coming Out of the Shower and I Can't Resist_

He marveled at how the company had managed to fit all those words on such a small slip of paper and put it with the other one for now. When England finished getting dressed, he put both papers inside his shirt pocket and went downstairs to make breakfast. While he was getting out his teapot, he found the third kiss inside it:

_Your Please Let Me Make Breakfast Today_

This one made even less sense then the two before it, but England still put the paper inside his pocket along with the others. After he managed to pry his breakfast from the stove and sit down at the table, he noticed that the empty place across from him had yet another Kiss waiting for him:

_Your I Just Need To Get This Taste Out of My Mouth_

England muttered something about stupid gits and there being nothing wrong with his food but placed this paper alongside the others.

When he finished breakfast and cleaned up his dishes, England grabbed his coat, locked his door, and went on his way to work. When he stuck his hand into his pocket to get his keys, he found another Kiss:

_Your Have a Great Day_

England smiled and placed that paper in his pocket, glad that Hershey's made their Kisses small or else he'd start gaining weight.

The Kisses were everywhere. Even at work he didn't stop finding them. There was a _Your You're at Work, But I'm Still Thinking of You_ one on his desk, a _Your Surprise Work Visit_ was delivered with his tea before lunch, and England even found a _Your Lunchtime Meet-up _at his table when he went out for lunch. By the time he got home, he had found a total of twenty Kisses.

As soon as he stepped through the door, England hung up his jacket in the closet. Something glittered on the top shelf and one double take later he noticed it was yet another Kiss:

_Your Welcome Home_

England began to search the house. There was a _Your Snuggling_ on the couch, a _Your Unwinding From a Long Day_ one on top of the telly, a _Your You Look Too Cute When Reading _on the bookcase, a _Your I Just Got You Tea and Need a Tip _in his tea cup, and _Your You Shouldn't Be Working When You're Home_ one in his study. By nighttime the Kiss total had climbed to around thirty.

While England was thinking about what to do for dinner his cell phone rang. He didn't need to look at the ID to know who it was.

"_Did you find them all?_"

"Maybe," England replied, trying and failing to keep the smile out of his voice, "I seem to be missing a few."

"_Hold on… wait are you at 23 or 25?_"

"I've been living at the same place for over sixty years! How can you possibly not know the house number?"

"_I usually find your house by the roses out front, but its winter now and they all look the same." _

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"_But I'm your idiot. Which number?"_

"23."

He hung up just as there was a knock on the door. England answered it to find America grinning at him.

"Well?" he asked as he raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, right," America leaned in and gave him another sweet kiss that tasted like chocolate. He must have had some on the ride over, "There's your Goodnight Kiss."

"I'm not going to bed yet."

America pouted, "Way to spoil it England."

"Hush you," England grabbed his coat and stepped outside too, "Did you eat on the plane?"

"Yeah, but I can eat again," America grabbed his hand and gently started swinging them as they walked down the street, "So seriously, did you find them all?"

"I think so," England squeezed his hand, "How did you manage to put them all over?"

"I had Tony do it. Well, that was the plan, but he said he didn't want to step foot in your limey country, so he asked some of your friends to do it."

The soft giggles nearby confirmed America's story, "I still seem to be missing a few…"

"Really? Well, we can make the one at the door your Let's Go Out to Eat Tonight kiss, and this," he leaned in and kissed England again, "can be your I Just Really Like Kissing You kiss."

"Is that all?"

America beamed at him, "For you, I have infinity and then some."


	30. Halley's Comet

**This is the second of three stories I'm posting today.**

**Characters/Pairings: **USUK, Edmund Halley.

**Enjoy.**

**

* * *

1066**

It was all that comets fault. That was on the forefront of England's mind as he ran for his life. Everyone knows that comets bring death and destruction, and the one that appeared over his skies earlier that year was no different.

It was so beautiful, the comet, and he let himself believe that everything would be alright. How could anything horrible come from something so wonderful?

But now there were strange men on his shores, and as much as he fought back and kicked and screamed and ran and hid, they were coming, and there wasn't anything he could do to stop them. He had already lost.

And it was the comet's fault.

**1607**

America was starting to open up to him. It had taken England a while to convince him that he wasn't dangerous like France was, but after six months together, they were starting to feel like brothers.

Apparently something was going to happen tonight, something big and amazing, America had told him. He was so excited England had no choice but to smile and follow his excited face to the top of a hill away from the settlement, where they had been waiting for this big amazing something all night.

Just as England was considering calling it a night, America, who was seated in his lap, perked up and pointed at the sky, "Look, Engwand!"

And England did and stared at it in horror.

"Engwand, what is it?" America asked, innocent eyes captivated by the comet.

"It's a comet, America," England eventually answered, "It means bad things are coming."

"But it's so pwetty…"

"That's just to trick you. Pretty things carrying bad things make the things seem not so bad."

"Bad things like what Engwand?"

"Flood, famine, disease, invasion…" he let the list fade away and clutched America tighter, "It's alright America. I'll, I'll protect you from whatever's coming. No worries."

America nodded, "Nothing bad can happen if you're here!" and snuggled closer to England as he continued watching the comet, England warily keeping an eye out.

**1682**

"Lovely thing isn't it?" Edmund asked as he leaned away from the telescope.

"What would that be?" England asked before he noticed America getting too close to the astronomer's equipment, "America, don't touch things that aren't yours!"

America snapped his hand away and guiltily turned to face England, "I just wanted to see it…"

"It's quite alright," Edmund smiled at him, "And I meant the comet, Mr. England."

England crossed his arms and glared at said comet, "That would depend on your perspective, Mr. Halley."

"Comets being bearers of horrible omens is merely a superstition, you know."

"Old instincts die hard, I suppose."

Edmund stepped away from the telescope, "America, would you like to look through the telescope?"

His eyes lit up as he turned to England for approval.

"If you must," he sighed. America raced over and peered inside as Edmund moved back to stand next to England.

"He's quite enthusiastic that one."

"He's my colony," England continued staring at the sky, "Of course he's enthusiastic."

Silence embraced the area for a moment before Edmund broke it again, "Have you heard about what Newton's working on now?"

"Something about motion and physics, I haven't really been paying attention."

"He hasn't published it yet; you've been talking to him about it?" England's cheeks darkened but he didn't respond, "Anyway, I've been thinking. You recall what Kepler was said? About the movements of heavenly bodies?"

"He had no way to prove any of that."

"Unfortunately, but I've been thinking: what if he was right? If he was, then this isn't the first time you've seen this comet before, have you Mr. England?"

England raised an eyebrow, "I've seen comets before, Mr. Halley. Not this one."

"I'm thinking you just might have. This comet shares similar traits to other recorded comets. Assuming my theories and math are correct, you saw this comet in 1607 and should see this exact comet again in… 1759 perhaps?"

"I don't know what you're-"

"Yeah!" America interrupted, "We saw it! We saw the comet then, didn't we England?"

"We saw _a_ comet, America, there's no proof it was this one."

"Well, if a comet shows up again in 1759, you'll know then won't you?" Edmund gave England a smug smile.

"We'll see," England said as the three of them looked up at the stars.

**1759**

America had once again brought England to the top of some hill far away from any settlement, convinced that they would find a comet.

"America, we've been out here just about every night this year, give it a rest. There's no comet coming."

"It's only March," America laughed, "We've still got the rest of the year to go!"

England silently whimpered as America literally dragged him. He was planning on going home soon anyway, not just to get away from America's nightly astronomy, not that he minded as much as he let America believe he did.

America had grown so much in 77 years. What had once been a scared, frightened child clinging to England was now taller than him and able to hold a musket and fight off France by England's side. England was proud of what his colony had become.

"England! England look!" America jumped up and down as he pointed at the sky with the hand that wasn't holding England's, "See? Mr. Halley was right! There is a comet!"

He looked up and saw it for himself, "Indeed, I suppose he was."

America turned his grinning face towards England, "Hey, you're not worried are you?"

England looked back, "Worried? Why would I be worried?"

"Well, you've never been fond of comets," he shrugged, "Especially since now, well, this would be the one that-"

"Yes, well," England and turned away, "It was just a superstition. There's nothing to fear now."

"Yes," America looked back at the comet flying across the night sky, "You don't need to worry England, because I'm here to protect you now."

"I'm not worrying," he squeezed his hand, "but thank you."

**1835**

England didn't know what possessed him to come out to the middle of nowhere just to stargaze, but here he was, away from anything civilized, just to stare at a dirty ice ball in the sky.

He wondered briefly if America was off somewhere doing the same, but quickly rid himself of that thought. He hadn't spoken to America in years, and the last he'd heard of the boy, he'd gotten himself into another fight with Mexico. Honestly if he couldn't even play nice with his neighbors-

But, it wasn't England's problem. Not anymore. He stared up at the sky and felt unbearably lonely all of a sudden. It was reasonable, he supposed, after all he was usually out here watching this comet with America, and now he was thinking about America again.

England held his knees against his chest and rested his forehead on them. Why did he come out here if he was just going to think about America? Why does he keep doing this to himself?

Somewhere in Texas, America was looking at the comet and thinking the same thing.

**1910**

"England?" England heard the knocking at his office door and looked up to see America standing there looking surprisingly awkward, "Is it alright if I come in?"

"Oh, yes, of course. What do you need?"

"Uh, well, there's… I want you to see something."

"See what?"

"It's outside," America opened the door and stepped out halfway, "If you want to come. You don't have to if you don't want to or you're busy or whatever."

"I could use a break," England stood up and followed him outside.

America took him away from the city, into the middle of a field away from any lights. When England was just starting to get fed up with him, which would have been bad, they were just starting to repair their shattered relationship, America stop and pointed at the sky.

"See? I mean, I know you don't really like comets, especially this one, but, well," America turned his face away, "I figured, you know, you might want to know it was still there."

England looked up as the comet passed overhead, "Right on time."

"Yeah," America sat down, "You don't, you know, have to stay with me. I can find my way back. You can go if you want."

"Hm," England looked away from the comet at the top of America's head, "You've already brought me all the way out here," he sat down next to him, "I might as well stay."

America just nodded. They sat there in silence for a while, staring at the glowing comet, until America had to break it, "It's been a while since we've done something like this, just the two of us, hasn't it?"

"Can't imagine why," England winced as the words left his mouth.

"Can't we just," America sighed before giving his full attention to England, "Can't we just leave it, for one night? Can we just have one night where we don't-"

"Yes," England interrupted, "Yes, I, I shouldn't have said that," England leaned back until he was lying on the ground with his hands on his stomach, "We can just stargaze tonight, if you want."

"Thanks," America lay down too, hands behind his head, "I'd like that. Just stargazing, or well, comet gazing too, since it's there and all."

"Mhm," silence fell between them again as they watched the stars in peace.

**1986**

"Blanket?" England scanned the list for the item.

"Check," America put a star patterned blanket in the bag as England checked it off the list.

"Telescope?"

"Check," the telescope joined the blanket.

"Food?"

"Check," several sandwiches, chips, and cookies went into the bag.

"Tea?"

"Tea? What are we going to need tea for?"

"It's cold out there. I'm going to need something to drink."

"I'm bringing plenty of coffee!" England gave America a look that conveyed his displeasure with that plan. "Fine, I'll go make you some tea."

"I'll make," England put the list down and walked over to the cabinet where he knew America kept the tea for him, "God knows you don't know how to brew it properly."

"Says you," America leaned back and watched as England went through the preparations. Eventually he snuck up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, "Hey."

"Hey what?" England continued making his tea, trying and failing to keep the smile off his face.

"Thanks for coming over for this," America hugged him tighter, "I know you're busy, so…"

"I always have time for you," England blushed as he pulled away from America. He still wasn't used to this whole 'actual special relationship' thing they were doing.

America was having none of that and pulled him back for a kiss, "Me too."

"Yes, well," England gave him a quick kiss back and turned back to the tea, "I'm still going to need to finish this if we want to get out there before the comet goes away."

"Which is why you should hurry up."

"Well maybe I'd be done by now if a certain someone wasn't distracting me."

"You're welcome," America smirked as England rolled his eyes.

England finished his tea and put it in a thermos in the bag before handing everything to America and going through one last check of the list.

America's house was in the middle of nowhere, away from any lights or other people as the two of them set up their small picnic in the moonlight.

"Can't believe it's been 76 years already!" America remarked as he finished setting up the telescope, "Not much has changed though has it?"

"There's been two world wars, your endless cold war with Russia, the creation of nukes, the end of colonization, and you've been to the moon."

America leaned over and kissed him, "I love it when you remind me of the moon thing."

"Yes well," England cupped his cheek, "You deserve that one."

He turned his head and kissed his wrist, "Have I thanked you yet? For being here?"

"You could always say it again."

"Thank you," America kissed him again.

"You're quite welcome."

America grinned and looked at the sky, "Look England, there it is!"

England followed his finger, "So it is."

America made a scramble for the telescope, "Remember when I was a kid and you were terrified of this thing?"

"I wasn't terrified," England lied on the blanket, eyes on the comet in the sky, "I was simply cautious."

"Which is old man speak for terrified."

England rolled his eyes, "Even if I was scared, I had every reason to be."

America left the telescope and joined England on the blanket, "Well now you've got me to protect you from the scary Normans."

England smiled as he wrapped his arms around him, "You better."


	31. American Adventures with Canadian Money

**This is the third of three stories I'm posting today. If you got here using the magic last chapter arrow thing, you may want to go back and read the other two. Or not. Your choice.**

**Characters/Pairings: **America, Underpaid Cashier, Overworked Manager, Random Charity Guy. Mentions of Canada.

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"What the hell is this?" America held up the alleged $10 bill he just got from Canada via birthday card. It sure as hell didn't look like any $10 bill America had seen before, but it had the words "Canada" and "10 Dollars" on it, so he supposed it was one of those legendary Canadian dollars that he'd heard so much about, but never saw before. Up until this point he just assumed his brother used normal American dollars. Weird.

He studied the pinkish-purplish front side covered in French, tinsel, what looked like a Cirque du Soliel tent, and some depressed guy with a popped collar before flipping it to gaze at the bluish-purplish back, complete with birds, flowers, a sad poem from that one Peanuts special, and some stalker ghost guy with binoculars outside of what America assumed was the gates to Canada. Why was Canadian money so gay?

Well if Canada was going to send him money, America figured he might as well spend it. He was well aware that you couldn't buy American stuff with Canadian money, which would just be silly and defeat the purpose of _having_ American money in the first place, and came up with a perfect solution.

One trip to the grocery store later found him with a basket full of Canadian bacon being presented to one very confused cashier.

"That will be $10 sir," she said in a tone that made America want to shout, "It's not all for me! I don't even want it! I just need to spend the Canadian money on something! I'm not fat, stop judging me!" but he held his tongue.

America dug through his pocket and presented her with the Canadian bill, however instead of taking it and putting it in the cash register, thus completing their transaction, she merely stared at it, then back at him as if he was trying to pay her with some sort of counterfeit.

"Uh, this is real money," he explained when she just kept staring, "At least I'm pretty sure it's real. It's Canadian so…"

"This is America," she cut him off, "You can't use Canadian money here."

America frowned. He was very well aware of where he was, considering it was who he was, thank you very much random Shop Rite cashier person. "But, I'm buying _Canadian_ bacon, so the Canadian parts cancel each other out."

She merely looked at him like his head was on fire, which it wasn't, at least he was pretty sure he'd feel that, "This is _ham_."

America rolled his eyes, "Yeah, Canadian bacon _is_ ham." He loved each and every one of his citizens, but sometimes he worried about them. When she just raised an eyebrow and still didn't take the money, he chuckled and continued, "I know right? It's almost like Canada's trying to make things difficult." And knowing his brother, he probably was laughing about this back home.

The cashier still didn't take the money and instead called the manager over, saying, "I'm sorry sir, but you're going to have to get that exchanged."

America sighed in exasperation, "That's what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to exchange my money for bacon."

She just continued staring at him and not taking the money, and by this time the manger arrived. "What's the problem here?" she asked.

"He's trying to, uh…" the cashier waved her hand in the air as if at a loss for words.

"I'm just trying to buy Canadian bacon," America helped her out, "Is that so hard to do?"

The manger looked at the bill he still had out in his hand and gave him a similar look that the cashier did, "I'm sorry sir, but we can't accept that here."

"I know its Canadian money," he explained, a bit tired of having to go through this again, "but this is Canadian bacon, so the Canadian parts cancel each other out." When she still gave him that look he sighed again and pulled out a napkin from his pocket, "It's basic algebra; I'll explain. Do you have a pen?" The manger nodded slowly and handed one of the pens in her pocket to America, "Thank you, now pay attention:

"That's Canadian bacon right?" He drew out the fraction, with bacon as the numerator, because geographically is the only way Canada can top, "And this is 10 Canadian dollars," he drew out that fraction as well, with an equal sign in between. "So, since they both have Canada, the Canadas cancel each other out," he crossed the Canadians out and rewrote the new equation below it, "So bacon = $10, which means you owe me bacon," he finished writing out the last statement before handing the manger back her pen and showing both the non-believers the napkin with a flourish.

The manger stared at the napkin and shared a look with the cashier before facing America again. "I'm sorry sir, but this establishment just can't accept Canadian money. You're going to have to pay with American money or you can't have the bacon."

America was completely unaware of how anti-Canadian his people could be. Frankly he was appalled, and spared them a "Psh, whatever," before promptly leaving the store.

He was wandering down the streets wondering if it would be better to just send the money back to Canada with a "Thanks, but your money is useless" note attached when he spotted a group of people collecting money for a charity. Without any other brilliant ideas of what to do with the money rolling around in his head, America gave the bill to them.

"Thank you! God bless you!" one of them said.

"Don't thank me dude," America said with a wave as he walked away, "you can't even buy bacon with that."


	32. Sweet Days and Sweeter Nights

**Y'all are probably wonder where I ran off to...what, you haven't? Well I'm back for now anyway.**

**This was for the kink meme prompt: **_All Nations are asexual._ **Staring Romano and America.**

**Characters/Pairings: **America/Romano. Mentions of past Romano/girls, Romano/Belgium, Romano/Spain, and Romano/Germany.**  
**

**Warnings for mentions of sex.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Romano likes girls.

Girls are soft, girls are sweet, girls are neat, girls smell nice, girls have curves in all the right places, girls are beautiful. Girls are a gift from God so the unworthy swine that is men has something to marvel at. No, girls _themselves_ are goddesses, sent to earth so men can see what perfection is.

Romano likes everything about girls, including having sex with them.

Not that he considers having sex with a girl as something sexual, of course not. More often than not, he doesn't even get off during it, lest he ends up tainting his partner. No, sex in Romano's mind is simply another way to worship the female form in all its glory.

America is most certainly not a girl.

He's all hard muscle, more loud and obnoxious then anything, can't organize his cutlery to save his life, smells like hamburgers and sweat most of the time, and does not have a curve on his form to speak of. He is beautiful though, Romano can't deny that.

Romano is not with America because he is a girl. He's with him because he is not.

Romano knows he is in the small minority of nations that actually have sex (France, China, and Cameroon being among some of the others in that group). As such whenever he does start seriously seeing another nation, this is always the first issue to come up. Belgium, for example, had strictly forbidden him from sleeping around with other girls, and he was more than happy to comply. Spain, on the other hand, didn't care. During the time they were together, Romano had sex twice, once when Sakura from Kyoto had just been dumped by her jerk of a boyfriend and needed a pick me up, and once towards the end when Spain was being a bastard. Romano felt horribly guilty for using Rosa from London like that afterwards.

On their first date, America, beat red and completely awkward, told Romano that he, you know didn't mind so much if he wanted to like, sleep around and stuff. However, Romano hasn't felt the need or desire to, even when Janice from Houston cried to him over her drink about her divorce.

Romano isn't positive, but he had a sneaking suspicion that America wants a boyfriend simply because he's tired of being lonely. He's always inviting (dragging) him over to his house so they can go to the amusement park, or the theater, or the aquarium, or sometimes just to stay home and watch movies. Romano most certainly doesn't _enjoy_ it when America has him over, but if he's being perfectly honest with himself for once, he does like spending time with him. It still doesn't explain why, out of all the nations in the world, America would choose to date Romano, but he isn't complaining. Well, not _seriously_ complaining; people would be suspicious if he just stopped altogether.

Romano's favorite nights are their nights in, either at his house in Rome or in one of America's many abodes. He cooks dinner for them, and he always likes cooking for America, who appreciates tomatoes almost as much as he does, always clears his plate and asked for seconds, and never compares his food to Veneciano's. He knows America just likes eating, and the fact that Romano's food isn't England's is merely an added bonus, but it still makes his face warm and his heart flutter every time he tells him it's the damn best meal he's ever eaten. After dinner America picks out a movie, and they usually end up cuddling and falling asleep on the couch before it's over.

America doesn't like sex at all. He's always blushing and trying to change the subject whenever it's brought up. What he does like is cuddling and kissing and other forms of physical contact. Romano has almost grown used to the surprise sneak hugs that happen whenever they're in the same room, and the random touches and hand holding under the table. America likes holding his hand, especially when they are out in public, as if he's telling the world that Romano is _his_ and his alone. Every night they're together, Romano will receive a goodnight kiss and ends up in America's embrace, surrounded by his comforting warmth, and when he wakes up, America refuses to let him get out of bed without a good morning kiss. Not to mention all the times when America decides to just pull him aside and kiss him, simply because he allegedly "Looks too cute to resist," or "There was a cat coming that way and I didn't want it to scare you" or even "I dunno; it just felt right."

Spain had liked kissing and cuddling too. The difference is Spain would kiss everyone (on the cheek. Romano clung to the fact that he only kissed him on the lips when they were together) and cuddle with whoever was nearby when the mood struck him. When they were together, Germany would only go so far as to hold hands, and the purpose was quickly defeated whenever he let Veneciano do the same. America only reserves his kisses and cuddles for Romano.

And that makes Romano feel special. Yes, America isn't a girl, and Romano is glad for that fact, because at the end of the day, America always loves him for simply being him, and that's all Romano could ever want.


	33. The Music of Our Life

**This was done for the usxuk lj com's July Summer Camp fest...thing. For the Day 9 prompt: Music. The other prompts will be coming very shortly, not all here though.**

**Pairings: America/England**

**Music used: **"I'm a Believer" by the Monkees, "I've Got You Under My Skin" by Frank Sinatra, "Hey Jude" by the Beatles, and "You're Still the One" by Shania Twain. **Yeah, I have random tastes in music.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"_I thought love was only true in fairytales. Meant for someone else but not for me_," the juke box in the corner of the bar crooned, and Arthur couldn't help but agree.

"_Love was out to get me. That's the way it seems." _

Exactly right, random song playing in a random bar in some random American city. Love was just a ruse, something the media wanted everyone to think was amazing and life changing, but in reality it either didn't exist or was nothing but soul crushing torment so they could sell flowers and chocolate.

"_Disappointment haunted all my dreams." _

Who needed love anyway? Certainly not him. Yes that's right; he didn't need love or its agents of 'affection' and 'caring.' All he needed was that next drink from the bartender.

"_And then I saw her face. Now I'm a believer._"

In the end, even the juke box betrayed him. Very well, he didn't need that either.

"_Not a trace of doubt in my mind._"

Arthur preferred his solitude by himself, thank you very much.

"_I'm in love-_"

"Well stop rubbing it in!" Arthur banged his fist on the bar and shouted at the juke box.

"Rough day Mr. Kirkland?" the bartender asked. Arthur grunted his reply and gestured for another drink.

"_I thought love was more or less a given thing._"

And now the juke box was back on his side. It's too late now; he already knew where its loyalties lay.

"_The more I gave the less I got, oh yeah._"

Although, that right there did just describe his past relationships to a tee. Perhaps it could yet be saved.

"_What's the use in trying? All you get is pain._"

Exactly juke box. Pain was something that should be avoided. That's why it hurt. Ergo, love should be avoided as well. It was only natural to avoid the hurt. Why bother fighting instinct?

"_When I wanted sunshine I got rain._"

Living in England never helped with that one.

"_And then I saw her face. Now I'm a believer._"

And there it went again. Arthur agreed with the verses, but the chorus left much to be desired.

Honestly, all this talk about 'soul mates' and 'finding the right person' is utter nonsense. One of these days he was just going to see some random person and some 'magical spark' would happen between us? Arthur had read more believable children's books then that, written a few of them too.

But, he was not here to think. He was here to drink.

"I'll have a beer," a sunny voice said on Arthur's left, "So, what brings you here eyebrows guy?"

Arthur's anger flared at the pure happiness in that voice. How dare this brat disturb him while he was trying to find solitude in a public place! He was going to get the verbal lashing of a lifetime-

And then Arthur saw his face. Now he was a believer.

"_I've got you, under my skin. I've got you, deep in the heart of me._"

* * *

"Ooh," Alfred jumped off the couch, much to the distress of Arthur, who had been seated quite comfortably between his legs until he tumbled to the floor, "I love this song!"

"_So deep in my heart, that you're really a part of me,_" he sang along with the radio, sending Arthur a smile he most certainly did not find absolutely charming thank you very much.

"I know you know the words Artie," he laughed as he extended a hand to his boyfriend, "Come and sing it with me."

Arthur blushed but took the hand and was pulled up off the floor and into Alfred's arms as he sang the next part.

"_I've got you, under my skin. I've tried so, not to give in._"

"_I said to myself this affair, never will go so well,_" Arthur joined in, much to Alfred's delight if the grin was anything to go by.

"_But why should I resist,_" Alfred leaned his forehead against Arthur's, "_when baby I know so well-_"

"_I've got you, under my skin_," Arthur couldn't help the smile that spread on his face as he looked into those blue eyes.

Alfred grinned too as he backed away, spun Arthur once, and held him close again, "_I'd sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near._"

"_In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night_," Arthur snuck an arm around his neck, "_And repeats, repeats in my ear._"

"_Don't you know little fool?_" Alfred whispered right in his ear, "_You never can win. Use your mentality. Wake up to reality._"

"_But each time that I do, just the thought of you_," Arthur leaned up so that he was singing the words into Alfred's lips, "_Makes me stop just before I begin_."

"_Because I got you_," Alfred breathed, "_Under my skin,_" before closing the minuet distance between them for a kiss.

In the background, Frank kept singing.

* * *

"Alfred, you're being ridiculous," Arthur knocked on the door to their – well, it was theirs up until a few days ago. He supposed it was just Alfred's now – apartment, "Open the door."

His knocks and pleas were met with silence. "Are you really just going to ignore me?"

"I said I didn't want to talk to you," the shout came from inside the apartment, "Go away."

"Alfred we need to talk about this-"

"There's nothing to talk about. If you're not off my doorstep in the next 5 minutes I'm calling the cops."

Arthur started, but in the end relented, "If that's what you want, I'll go."

"Yes, that's what I want."

"…Alright then," Arthur turned around and marched out of the building without looking back.

Arthur wasn't going to cry. He'd had break ups before, and at least Alfred didn't chase him out of the country. Sure, he thought it was different with Alfred, but in the end… well, it ended. That should say it all.

He really didn't want it to end, more so then the others even. But he had said those things he didn't mean, he just kept pushing Alfred away, and now look at where he was: alone, in a supermarket, trying to beat his head in with a box of cereal. After a few minutes he gave in, the other customers had given him the whole aisle to himself anyway, and let some tears fall.

"_Hey Jude, don't make it bad,_" the Beatles sang over the intercom, "_Take a sad song and make it better._"

Now he was back to square one, alone and miserable, as was his lot in life. He was born alone and miserable and he would die alone and miserable, and if there were brief spots in his life where he wasn't alone and miserable, they only existed to accentuate how lonely and miserable being alone and miserable is.

"_Remember, to let her into your heart. Then you can start, to make it better._"

Yes, well, too little too late for that. He couldn't even get Alfred to listen to him, let alone give him a real chance to get in.

"_Hey Jude, don't be afraid._"

"I'm not afraid," Arthur argued with the song, "It's just impossible."

"_You were made to go out and get her._"

"I've been trying to!" he snapped at the air. The mother and child who had been circling the aisle for the past few minutes bolted away yet again.

"_The minute, you let her under your skin. Then you begin, to make it better…_"

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't too late after all. If he just, was honest, with Alfred, with himself, for once in his life, then maybe Alfred will take him back. It was a long shot, but…

_"For well you know that it's the fool, who plays it cool, by making his work a little colder._"

He should stop shutting Alfred out. If he ever wants to be happy, he needs to tell him how he feels, make himself vulnerable and hope, pray, know Alfred won't smash his heart to pieces. That's what love was all about wasn't it?

"_Hey Jude, don't let me down. You have found her, now go and get her._"

Arthur nodded at no one and ran down the aisle as fast as he could.

"_Remember, to let her into your heart. Then you can start, to make it better._"

"Thank you," he shouted as he exited the supermarket, startling more than a few workers and customers. He'd have to remember never to shop there again.

But that didn't matter right now. All that mattered was getting back to his home, back to his Alfred, so he could make it better.

* * *

"Ah," Alfred reached over to the nightstand and turned up the radio before snuggling back into Arthur's chest.

"_They said, 'I'll bet they never make it,'" the song in the radio played, "But just look at us holding on._"

"Alfred?" Arthur lowered his book and looked down at his lover, who simply smiled back at him. Even after all these years, it still made his stomach flutter.

"_We're still together, going strong._"

"This song reminds me of us," was all he said as he rested his head on Arthur's shoulder.

"_You're still the one I run to,_" Alfred sang along, muttering the words into his neck, "_The one that I belong to. You're still the one I want for life._"

Arthur's hand found its way into Alfred's hair, and he gently started petting it as he sang the next part, "_You're still the one that I love, the only one that I dream of. You're still the one I kiss goodnight._"

Alfred lifted his head to do just that before he sang the next part "_Ain't nothing better. We beat the odds together._"

"_I'm glad we didn't listen_," Arthur leaned his forehead against Alfred's, "_Look at what we would be missing._"

They smiled at each other before kissing again. Alfred curled himself around Arthur, head resting on his shoulder as Arthur turned off the light and lay down on the bed, arms around his love as the both fell asleep.

"_We're still together, still going strong._"


	34. Come Fly With Me

**This was done for usxuk lj com's Summer Camp...thing. Day 7 prompt: Aviation. The rest won't be so out of order, btw. Also, this is the second story in this update, so if you got here using the magic arrow thing and want to read both stories, go back and read it.  
**

**Characters: America/England**

**Music: **"Come Fly With Me" by Frank Sinatra

**Enjoy**

* * *

"England, come on, please?"

England really did not have time for America's pleading right now. He was way behind on his work, and getting behind more and more each day.

"I took this week off just to spend time with you and you're just working!"

Of course England would have liked a vacation, but he just didn't have enough time for that right now. He would have loved to just drop everything and run away with America for the week, but he was a gentleman, and gentlemen don't just put off their work because they feel like it.

"Please, England. For me?"

And England almost made the mistake of looking up into those too blue puppy dog eyes that would have caused him to cave instantly to any command America made. But not this time America, _not this time_.

"I've already gave you my answer America. I have a lot of work to do this week."

"…Nothing I say is going to convince you to take a break and come with me, is it?"

Was he finally starting to get it? "Yes."

"Even though everyone can see you totally need it?"

"I don't need it."

"Alright, I get it," America sighed.

England heard shuffling and he looked up just in time to see America leave his office.

Which was exactly what he wanted, of course. Yes, a trip in a hot air balloon to some Caribbean island for a week alone with America – or whatever he was going on about; he wasn't paying attention in the slightest – _seemed_ like a good idea, but England really needed to get some work done. So the fact that America had actually listened to him and left him alone didn't disappoint him in the slightest.

The door burst open again and America entered, having changed into a suit, complete with tie, and a fedora. His jacket was off and slung over his shoulder, the fedora tilted just enough to be considered charming.

"…America what are you doing?"

"Since nothing I _say_ is going to convince you to come with me, I'll just _serenade_ you into coming with me."

England blinked, "What?"

"Hit it!" Trumpets started blaring from somewhere, taking England off guard.

"America just what are you-"

"_Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away._"

Oh god, he was really serenadinghim. England would never admit it out loud, or in his head, for that matter, but when America actually tried, his singing voice did funny things to England's psyche.

"_If you can use, some exotic booze_," America pulled out a bottle of something that smelled absolutely heavenly when he placed it on his desk, "_There's a bar in far Bombay._"

He was on the other side of the desk, extending his hand, "_Come on fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away._"

England hesitantly reached out for the hand to be rewarded with being yanked out of his chair and into America's arms as he tossed his jacket on the chair and spun them around the office.

"_Come fly with me, let's float down to Peru._"

"I think we'd have to call first," England commented as the spinning stopped, "It would be rude to just drop in on him.

America smirked before lowering him into a dip without warning, forcing England to grab his shoulders for support, "_In llama land, there's a one man band, and he'll toot his flute for you._"

"That better not mean what I think it means…"

The smirk grew, "_Come on fly with me, we'll take off, in the blue._"

"As tempting as your offer is," England tried to get out of his hold, "I'm going to have to decline, again-"

But America wasn't done. He spun England again before singing, "_Once I get you up there, where the air is, rarified-_"

"Do you even know what that means?"

"_We'll just glide,"_ he spun England back to his chest and slid an arm around his waist, "_Starry-eyed."_

America took England's hand in his free one,_ "Once I get you up there, I'll be holding you, so near,_" and he held him closer for emphasis, "_You may hear, all the angels cheer 'cause we're together."_

"_Weather-wise it's such a lovely day."_

"It's raining," England pointed out, and indeed, the rain was pelting on the window.

"_Just say the words_," America continued, leading the two of them in a little dance, "_and we'll beat those birds down to Ac apulco Bay."_

America spun England back out, only to pull him back in again so he was right against his chest, "_It's perfect for a flying honeymoon they did say._"

"Who said?" England glared, "Have you been talking to France about us again?"

America rolled his eyes and kissed him on the forehead, "_Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away!_"

"You're not going to stop until I give in, aren't you?" England asked as the trumpets from nowhere went off on an instrumental part.

"I've still got two more verses," America winked at him, "So what do you say England? You, me, a hot air balloon, and a private island for the whole week. We both know you need to relax and soon before you snap."

"Hm," England pretended to think about it for a moment, watching America squirm. Honestly, he'd been sold on the idea the moment he had started singing, "Tempting offer," he reached up and took the fedora off of America's head, placing it on his own, "Keep the suit on for the whole time and you've got yourself a deal."

America cheered, pulling him into a kiss as the trumpets from nowhere took the cue and stopped playing. He grabbed his hand and started pulling England out the door and into his backyard where he had landed the hot air balloon.

"C'mon England," he shouted as he jumped into the basket, put on his trademark bomber jacket – over the suit, of course – along with a scarf and a pair of goggles before offering his hand to England again, "Let's fly!"

And England saw no reason to refuse him.


	35. Sweet Defeat

**This was for Day 19 - Sports.**

**I really wanted to do drabbles for every game of the World Cup like I did last year, but unfortunately my work scheduled made it so I missed every single game. At least I did something for the final? :D?**

**The pairing is USUK. Warnings for genderbending and the idea that nyotalia characters exist in the same world as the regular ones.**

**Enjoy.  
**

* * *

The whistle blew, ending all of America's hopes and dreams along with it.

Penalty kicks, she fumed, it had come down to _penalty kicks_. She had done so well in the first half, was at the top of her game, but it all just fell apart in the next half. Maybe she just got too cocky, like France warned her would happen, maybe she just let far too many opportunities pass her by, maybe Japan spiked her drinks, who knew. All she does know is that she didn't win; she lost, because of penalty kicks and Japan's stupid goalie.

But even in defeat, America is a hero. She put on her best smile, congratulated Japan on a spectacular performance, even went so far to give her a hug – and let the record show her brother had yet to hug the opponent he lost to, hell he's never even _gotten_ this far, so he can just shove it – before her friend, tears streaming down her face, got swept up in the crowd of players and fans and well wishers. When America was quite positive all of the attention was on Japan, she let her smile fall and slunk back into the changing rooms.

America waited in the corner, moody, refusing to so much as look at anyone who approached her, until the team, players, coaches, and assistants alike, had left her alone to brood in peace, or in an angry fit, if that was what she'd rather do, which, as it turned out, it was.

They players had taken all their stuff with them, so America had to contend with chucking whatever else she could find, mostly spare equipment, balls, medical supplies, and trash, around the room. When she ran out of tossable items, she latched onto a nearby bench and attempted to pry it out of the floor. She was about halfway there when a voice interrupted her.

"Oh yes, trashing the locker room. That's real mature and original. Well done."

America whipped around and found herself face to face with none other than, "E-England?"

England crossed her arms, "Yes, who else were you expecting, France? She's too busy congratulation Japan on beating you to offer you any comfort."

"Is that why you're here?" America glanced around the trashed locker room, "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't need your comfort."

England looked around the room as well, "Clearly."

"Yeah, well," America rolled her eyes and turned her back to the other, "We both know comforting people isn't you're strong suit so-"

"I'm trying to be more open, especially towards you," she could her England tapping her foot on the tiled floor, "ever since we starting, you know, dating officially, and all that."

"Thanks, but again, no thanks," America started tossing her things, at least the ones that weren't on the other side of the room, or in the vents, or wherever she threw them before, into her bag, "I don't _need_ comforting."

"America-"

"It's not like I _care_ that I lost or anything," her vision was starting to get blurry, and she was pretty sure her left cleat was on top of a locker on the other side of the room, "It's just soccer, it's not like it _matters_. It's a stupid sport-"

"America," the voice came from right beside her ear as she felt arms wrap around her, "you're crying."

"I am not," she sniffled and tried to wipe her tears away; "I just got dust in my eye is all."

The arms tightened their hold, and she felt more than she heard England say, "It's okay to care. Isn't that what you told me? I'm not going to think any less of you. How can I after you've done so well?"

America pouted, but couldn't help leaning into her lover's hold, "I lost. In the end it doesn't matter. _You_ beat Japan, but I couldn't even-"

"And you beat France," her hold tightened so that it was almost painful, "That was something I didn't do."

"Yeah, well, so did Sweden, in the end there."

"Really, I hadn't noticed," she could feel England's smirk through her sweat stained jersey but quickly sobered up, "And so what if she did? You still have more titles than any of us. So what if you lost to Japan this go around? You'll just come back even better next time. You always do."

America succeeded in wiping her eyes on her jersey and turned in England's hold to give her a proper hug, "Thanks England."

"No problem dear," she relaxed into her embrace, "Now what do you say we go back to the hotel, get pissed, and watch whatever low budget comedy they have on the telly?"

America grinned and hugged her girlfriend all the tighter, "Sounds like a plan."


	36. Ghosts in the White House

**This was written for the Day 20 theme - Supernatural. It features the ghosts of Abagail Adams, Abraham Lincoln, Andrew Jackson, Thomas Jefferson, William Henry Harrison, and a British soldier.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

England smiled at the two Secret Service agents as he approached the White House front door, "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Mr. England," they politely responded. The one on the left, younger, and still fairly new, if England recalled, made to stop him, "Uh, Sir, the President and Mr. America are still at the Capitol. They weren't expecting you for another few hours…"

His partner rolled her eyes, she'd been here for a few years and knew this routine by now, but let England explain, or rather, vaguely avoid answering the non-question.

"Indeed, I have some, business to attend to before our meeting. Its fine, the staff knows I'm here and I'm not going to do anything, so…"

He blushed, embarrassed for not knowing this tradition, quite understandable, he too will learn in time, as his partner elbowed him out of England's way, "Right, sorry about that Mr. England sir."

England nodded, considerate smile on his face, and entered the White House. His first stop was, as always, the East Room. He knocked, to be polite, but received no response, as always, the staff knew to keep out of his way and there was no way _she_ was going to answer him, and entered the room anyway.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Adams," England gave her a respectful bow, "How are you on this fine day?"

The woman in the room, who was in the process of hanging her laundry to dry, stopped to glare at him, "England. I didn't realize you were coming today."

"Odd," he took a few tentative steps into the room, "Usually he goes on about it, at least that's what the others say, because, you know, we're so close now…"

"I've told you before _Mr._ England," the ghost of Abigail Adams huffed as she grabbed what looked like a nightshirt and hung it up with more force than necessary, "I don't care if he forgives you, _I _still don't."

"Will you ever Mrs. Adams?" he leaned against the piano, staring at a back that was content to ignore him, "I can't recall how many times I've apologized."

"You haven't yet today," she noted, the smell of her soap spreading throughout the room.

"Ah, well," he bowed his head as she turned to face him, arms crossed in front of her, "I am sorry for all of the wrongs I've done. I was lonely, bitter, and heartbroken at the time, so I ask that you forgive me, although I'd understand if you didn't."

She nodded before leaning down and picking up what appeared to be a dress from her pile of laundry and hanging that as well, "Maybe next time I'll forgive you."

That was the best England ever got from her. He thanked her and excused himself, heading upstairs to the Lincoln Bedroom.

He knocked, again, but this time he received a response, "Mr. England, is that you?"

England smiled and entered the room, "Mr. Lincoln, it's a pleasure to see you again."

The ghost of Abraham Lincoln was sitting on the bed, just finishing up putting his boots on. As England entered, he stood up and gave him a good humor smile, "Likewise. Alfred has been talking about nothing but your visit for weeks. Perhaps now that you're here, he'll calm down a bit."

England smiled at the thought, "You know America, Mr. Lincoln. I doubt he'll ever be calm."

"True enough," he sat down in one of the chairs in the room and offered another to England, "Please, sit down. We haven't talked in what seems like ages. How is life?"

He chuckled as he sat down, "Politics as usual, I'm afraid. Rather dull and pointless. How's Willie? I haven't seen him around yet."

Out of all the ghosts in the White House that England checked up on whenever he visited, Lincoln was his favorite. He loved exchanging stories with England and loved every one of them, even if he had heard them before, and in return gave England an update on America. Unlike some former presidents who still hung about the White House, Lincoln partly stuck around so he could keep an eye on the lad.

"America has been eating less," Lincoln confessed when their conversation steered towards that topic, "Not even his burgers."

"He's probably just worried about the economy. Again. I'll make get him to eat, don't worry," England sighed and glanced at his watch, "Is it that time already? Terribly sorry Mr. Lincoln, but I really do have to go."

"Understandable," Lincoln stood and walked him to the door, "It was nice talking with you, Mr. England. Please try to stop by again before you leave."

"I will, and thank you once again," he spared the ghost one last smile before he shut the door and continued across the other side of the East Sitting Hall to the Queen's Bedroom. He opened the door just a crack and peeked inside, sure enough someone was lying on the bed in the appearance of sleep. England tried to shut the door as quietly as he could, but the figure noticed him and sprang up from the bed, making his way to the door and flinging it open, "England! I thought I heard you poking around out here!"

"Jackson," England nodded as he let go of the door and backed away, "I was just stopping by to inform you that I will be here this week. I hope that be doing this, there will be no need to, ah, interrupt mine and America's alone time."

"Relax England," the ghost of Andrew Jackson put a see through hand on his shoulder, "I've been a good ghost since your last visit. I've only startled him a few times."

England scowled, "While I understand your plight, the plight of all of you, really, you were so close to America and now he's terrified of you simply because you're all ghosts, that does not mean it's appropriate to take advantage of his fears for your own amusement."

Jackson sighed and shook his head as he retracted his hand, "You were never much fun England."

England was about to tell him just how much fun he was, thank you very much Mr. Dead President, but the sound of a violin was suddenly heard through the hallway.

"Is he at it again?" Jackson left his room and stomped down the hall, England following in his wake, until they reached the Yellow Oval Room.

"Jefferson!" Jackson shouted as he threw open the door, "Would you keep that racket down?"

Jefferson stopped playing his violin to glare at the intruder and froze when his eyes found England, only to begin his glare anew moments later, "England. I thought you weren't coming until next week."

"No, I'm here this week," he nodded to be polite, "Mr. Jefferson, sorry for disturbing you."

Jefferson merely nodded in acknowledgment before he picked up the violin again and began playing, ignoring his new audience.

Jackson was about to yell at him again when a new voice joined the fray, "Are we having a party? Is England here yet, oh, there he is," the new ghost nodded, "England, you're looking well."

"Harrison," England nodded in return, "I'm surprised you left the attic."

"I heard you were coming. Did you really think I was going to miss out on that? Although," he gave England a sidelong glance, "You've been coming over a lot lately."

"Seeing as how America and I are in a long term, committed relationship, yes, I think it prudent to visit more often than I have in the past."

"You'd better take care of him," Jackson was leaning against the doorframe, glaring at Jefferson and his violin, "Better than you did before."

England faltered before giving him a glare of his own, "You won't have to worry about _that_. I have other matters to attend to, so if you excuse me, Jackson, Harrison, Mr. Jefferson," he nodded to each ghost in turn, Jackson smirking, Harrison waving him away, Jefferson ignoring him, before he left the room.

England wandered out onto the grounds, and he found him where he always did, wandering aimlessly among the bushes. He tried to call out, but he didn't have to; the British soldier had already seen him and was heading towards him.

"Good afternoon Sir," he saluted, careful to hold his torch away from both him and England.

"So it is," he looked around the grounds, back at the house, taking the scenery in, before he faced this long dead man again, "Stand down soldier. The war is over, has been for quite some time."

"I know that, Sir," he lowered his hand, always mindful of the torch.

England bit his lip and looked away, couldn't look into the eyes of his fallen soldier, "Is it because of me? Is that why you still haunt these grounds, because of some order I regret that I gave you in life?"

"I wouldn't know," he answered, as he always did. England was foolish to expect a different answer this time, "I am glad to see you here once again, Sir."

"You should try going in the house sometime," England offered him a smile, "They were good people, well most of them were. Don't you ever get lonely out here all by yourself?"

"I suppose it does, but I don't think its right for me to go inside, no matter how many long years have passed.

"I understand," England nodded as he turned to leave, "I'll come find you again before I leave."

He heard the soldier shout "Thank you Sir!" as he made his way back to the White House. America was already waiting for him by the time he got back to the front entryway, and as England approached, he wasted no time in suffocating him with a hug and kissing the air out of his lips.

"I've missed you," he muttered between the kisses.

"And I you," England replied as he melted further into America's embrace, "How did your meeting go?"

"Same as usual," he sighed and held England closer, "I hope you weren't too lonely being here by yourself while I was gone."

England closed his eyes as he heard the banging and shouting from upstairs, smelt soap wafting through the walls, still felt the sadness out on the grounds.

"I managed to find a few friends."


	37. Drabble Set Un

**I've been a bit absent lately, so as a sort of apology here are some drabbles I wrote last month on tumblr. I asked some friends there for some prompts and here are the results.**

** Enjoy.**

* * *

**France/America, Snow. Warning: takes place during Valley Forge.**

He sat in the snow, away from the fires of the other soldiers, huddled in blankets, rags, whatever they could find to keep away the cold. It would have been nice, he was sure, to bask in their warmth, their camaraderie but right now he needed to be alone.

His own feet had begun to bleed through their rags. Cautiously, he lifted up his foot to check it for damage. Nothing but red, he couldn't even differentiate the rags from his foot. He tried to peel some of them off with his numb fingers, but to no avail.

Sighing, America collapsed back into the snow. His army had no food, no clothing, and no help against the most powerful empire in the world. _At least it's warm in hell…_

"Sleeping out here?" a familiar voice, a warm voice, floats in his ear, "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, I suppose."

America opens his eyes to see France, shining beautiful France, standing above him. He leaps up, placing a shiver, gentle hand on his shoulder to prove that he isn't an illusion or a dream. A smile crosses his lips as he asks, "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to come tell you in person: it's official, mon ami."

He embraces France in a tight, too warm but so good, hug. Those were the sweetest words he's ever heard.

* * *

**Japan/Taiwan, Dancing**

Taiwan was beautiful, dancing across the floor, all eyes on her, Japan couldn't help but notice. She, however, only had eyes for her partner, whoever that happened to be at the time.

He needed air, at least that was the excuse he gave, and was now standing outside, the harsh winter wind biting at his cheeks. He stared out at the snowy landscape, too enthralled by it to notice someone joining him until she was right next to him.

"I was wondering where you went off to," Taiwan leaned on the railing, "You promised me a dance did you not?"

He blinked as he recalled his words from earlier that night, "I believe I did," he extended his hand to her, smile spreading across his face as she took it, "Taiwan-san, may I have this dance?"

Her grin matched his as the music from inside started up again, loud enough to carry to their forlorn spot on the balcony, "You may indeed."

They spent the rest of that winter night together, dancing the night away.

* * *

**America/Estonia, Mixtape. Warning for blatant ripoff from Avenue Q.**

"A, mixtape?" Estonia looked at it, confusion written on his face.

"Yeah, as a thank you for helping me with that computer bug last week. I was going through my old music and thought 'why not?'" America grinned as he looked around, "Yeah, so, uh, can I use your bathroom? I really gotta pee!"

"Of course," before he could say anything more, America shot down the hall and into the bathroom, but Estonia had more important things on his mind.

A mixtape, America had made him a mixtape. It was a sign, perhaps, that America had starting liking Estonia in the way Estonia had started liking him. A long shot perhaps, but a step in the right direction. Either way, he was optimistic as he looked at side A.

"You've Got a Friend," "The Theme From 'Friends,'" "That's What Friends Are For…" Well, friends is nice. Being friends with America is more than he could hope for. But wait:

"A Whole New World," "Kiss the Girl," "My Cherie Amour…" Maybe he did like him like that!

"I Am the Walrus," "Fat Bottomed Girls," "Yellow Submarine…" Estonia had no idea what that meant, except that America was a fan of the Beatles.

"Well, I'm going to head out!" America shouted from the vicinity of the doorway, Estonia looked up just in time to see him grin and wave as he left, "Enjoy the mixtape!" And he was gone.

Estonia flipped the tape over and quickly read through the songs on side B. A few more Beatles, movie, and television songs, but his eyes lingered on the very last one:

"I Have to Say I Love You in a Song."

He did like him.


	38. Speaking Easy

**This was written for the aph_historyswap on livejournal. My prompt was America and England in the 1920s, and I gotta say, I love the 1920s, so I loved this prompt. **

**Enjoy.**

* * *

England nervously tapped on the side door. Nothing happened for the longest time during which he considered simply walking away and meeting up with him some other time. All of a sudden he heard a grave voice mutter, "Password?"

He flinched at the sudden sound, but cleared his throat and whispered, barely audible, "Stars and Stripes."

A small window was opened just above his eye level in the door and a pair of eyes scanned him over, sized him up. England stood as tall as he could and glared right back at the eyes, refusing to be seen as weak, despite the butterflies in his stomach.

After a moment the window shut and the door was open proper, "Welcome to the club, Sir," the door attendant greeted with a bow. England nodded and stepped inside, removing his hat as the attendant closed and locked the first door and opened the second one, bowing again with a sweeping arm motion as England entered the Speakeasy.

The room was dark, as would be expected of such a place, but lively. Tables were haphazardly set up along the side in a way that left a large enough space in the middle for dancing. The multiracial live band on the stage was playing a new, upbeat jazz number that had most of the young patrons up and dancing. Those who weren't, the people at the bar, couples hidden away in dark corners, larger groups of people still sitting at the tables, all had an illegal drink in their hand, all clearly enjoying themselves.

England sighed as he gave the room a quick sweep with his eyes and, after not finding who he was looking for, shoved his had back on his head and slunk over to the bar to find an open seat.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked as soon as he planted himself on a barstool, determined to stay there the whole night.

"Whatever you have," he waved him off, not even bothering to give him eye contact, "the harder the better."

While he went off to get his order, England took the opportunity to study the crowd more closely. Women with short hair and shorter skirts danced and laughed and drank with men from all walks of life. There was a young business man in a sharp, pinstripe suit chatting up several young ladies at a table over on the right, a few factory workers having a drink after their shift, a young couple on the dance floor, acting as if they'd known each other all their life, although with the way he was struggling to remember her name, England was willing to bet they had just met tonight. It seemed all of young America had gathered here tonight to let loose away from the probing eye of anything official.

"There you are," a pleasant voice, bubbling with joy, said. America tugged on the brim of England hat, pulling it over his eyes as he sat down on the empty stool next to him, "Almost missed you, hiding in the corner here all by your lonesome."

"Yes, well," England crossed his arms and put on a good show of being offended, "Some of us still prefer getting drinks in legal establishments and feel uncomfortable in these kinds of settings."

"Some of us don't have that luxury," he chuckled and signaled to the bartender, "And don't try and play so innocent; France told me about your pirate days."

"Been spending a lot of time with _France _have you?" England tried not to let the jealousy seep into his voice at the mere thought.

"Yeah, a bit," America chuckled again, a happy, sunshine filled sound, as if the war had never happened. And in a way, he supposed, it never had, at least not to America. Not really.

The bartender brought England something clear in a large glass and he immediately snatched it up and downed about half of it, ignoring the bitter taste of the moonshine as it snaked down his throat.

"Mint Julep please," America ordered quickly before turning back to England, "So, how are you?"

England raised an eyebrow, "You didn't call me out here just for small talk did you?"

"Of course not," he pouted and started drumming his fingers on the bar, "Just being polite."

"Tired," he eventually settled on answering, "Busy. Nothing new. How about yourself?"

"As you can see," America swiveled on his seat, arms spread wide as he gestured at everyone so lively and young and American around him, "I'm doing good." Just then a young woman, dress flapping around her thighs, short blond hair tucked neatly under her cap, walked right by them. America dropped his arms as his eyes followed her, "Very good."

The woman stopped and raised her eyebrow. She was quite pretty, England noticed, with a good figure and impossibly long legs. She laughed as she turned back on her heel and sauntered away, "Sorry boys, the bank is closed."

"Your girls have always been quite spunky," England remarked as they continued to watch her walk away.

"Of course they are; they're mine."

The bartender returned with America's drink which he started gulping down after thanking the man.

"Don't choke now," England grumbled as he took another sip from his drink, wincing at the taste.

"Relax, I can handle it. I'm a big boy now remember?" he nudged England with his elbow and laughed, clear and perfect and simply wonderful, simply American.

"You certainly aren't acting like it," he nodded towards the dancing couples and the laughing people and everyone having fun, "You've spent half this decade gallivanting off in France, shirking your official duties, and getting drunk off of the worst of Romano's cheap booze."

"Well excuse me for wanting to live a little," America frowned and took another huge swig from his glass.

"There's a fine line between 'living a little' and being an irresponsible prat, and you're pushing it."

"Hey, I didn't invite you out tonight to lecture my ear off," America tilted his hat, smiled, and raised his glass, "I want you to relax and enjoy yourself, since you're in the greatest country in the world-"

"Where you can't even get a legal drink," England swirled the moonshine in its glass.

America chose to ignore him and went on, "With me as your own personal host. Life is good England, you should enjoy it."

"Yes, life is good now," England frowned and pointed his glass at America, "but I seem to recall just last decade I was crawling in muddy trenches, watching soldier after soldier get blasted apart by machine gun fire."

"Which is why you've earned this," he spun around in his stool again and leaned his back against the bar, "You've earned all the glamour and wealth, you and France. He's living it up too, why can't you?"

"Because I've been around, America. I've seen the highest of highs become the lowest of lows. Of course France is taking advantage of this high moment; his philosophy is to do so and deal with the inevitable low when it comes. But I'm, concerned about you."

"You don't have to worry about me," America winked, "I'm the one saving Europe remember? You should be more concerned with paying me back."

"I'm getting your money to you at the pace we agreed on," England downed the rest of his drink and signaled the bartender for another, "You needn't worry about that."

"Of course you are," he swiveled back around so he was facing the bar again and smirked into his drink, "You're giving my money to me as fast as Germany is giving you yours, but he can only get it to you as fast as I give it to him right? Really England, lecturing me when Europe is in such a state."

"All the more reason you need a lecture," he snatched the new drink from the bartender before he had a chance to set it down, "I know you've been trying to sneak back into isolation, but it doesn't work like that. You're a major world power, and if you don't start acting like it you'll get us all in trouble."

America finished off his drink and slammed the glass on the bar, "Why can't you just relax and have a good time?"

England ignored the burn and finished his in one gulp, slamming his glass down as well, "Why can't you accept your responsibilities?"

The atmosphere around them grew tense as they glared at each other. In the background, the jazz kept playing and the people kept dancing, ignoring their staring contest.

Eventually America broke eye contact with a sigh and reached into his pocket, "Since we're friends now I thought we could just hit the town and have fun while you're still here, give you a break you know? But if you're just going to lecture me like I'm still a little colony that doesn't know about the big, scary world," he pulled out a large wad of cash and tossed it on the bar, "then forget it. Drink as much as you want, it's on me."

England grabbed his wrist as he got up to leave, "Don't be daft. I'm not lecturing you because I think you're a colony, I'm doing it because I know you're not," he released him and clutched the glass in his hands, "We're nations, throughout our lifetime we'll experience highs and lows; it's inevitable. Everything's going your way now, but when it all comes crashing down, whether that day be next week or in a hundred years, I'm worried that, at the pace you're going, you'll be too far gone to pick up the pieces again."

America sat back down on his stool, "You're worried about me?"

"I, well," England blushed and turned away to try and hide his face, "We are f-friends now. But as you pointed out, Europe is quite dependant on you right now so if you went down we would all be forced to follow you. It's more out of self preservation than _you_per say and-"

"I worry about you too," America rested his chin in his hand as his words halted England's rambling, "The war took far more out of you than it did me."

"Git." Yes his recovery was taking a while, much longer than America's to be sure. Understandable, considering he lost almost an entire generation of young men, even so, "I'm the British Empire. It's going to take more than a mere war to bring me down."

America smiled, and it did funny things to England's stomach, or maybe that was just the moonshine, "I figured you would be, but I still worry. What do you say to forgetting about our worries and just having fun, relaxing evening, like dapper young men our age do?" he barked out a laugh, "Don't worry, I'll pay for it," he signaled the bartender, who rushed over to bring them more drinks, more illegal liquor, "and you don't even have to pay me back."

"Yes," England's smile was sarcastic as he downed more moonshine, "I suppose you will."


	39. A Cold Winter Night

**This is my Secret Santa gift for the exchange at the usuk lj community for xtwilightzx for the prompt: **_Something to do with snow/ice/the cold [...] As long as the cold (in whatever form) permeates the story, and contrasting that with the feeling of warmth._** Pairing is USUK, obviously, if you didn't get that by now.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

The wind whistled around England's ears, blowing at his coat, piercing every uncovered bit of skin with its icy breath. He skidded to a halt on the slush covered sidewalk, shivered, and burrowed his hands further into this (too light for this weather, he's starting to realize) jacket before putting on his famous stiff upper lip and continuing the trek to America's house, freezing rain and snow and sleet be damned.

Damn airport for losing his luggage, where he had packed all of his warmer clothes, positive he'd be able to access it before he had to face the American winter in the light business clothing he had worn in Australia's summer heat. Damn the taxi for only dropping him off several long, excruciating blocks away from America's house simply because he didn't have enough money for the rest of the fare because, like an idiot, he'd stored his wallet in his luggage bag and only had a few American dollars on him. Damn America and his freezing, frosty, cold, far too cold winters for being so damn cold.

Step by step he crunched through the mounds of snow that were building up on the sidewalk, seeping into his shoes and socks and making every step feel like lead. His toes were numb, his fingers were numb, his face was numb, by this point his everything was numb, but still he pressed forward. He knew at the end of this journey, he'd have his reward.

As England turned the final corner he saw it, halfway down the block, the house smothered in the gaudy Christmas lights of every shape, size, and color they could make them in. Usually he would scoff and make a comment about America overcompensating, but right now in his frozen state the house with its bright lights was a beacon leading him to the home of his beloved.

He stumbled the last few meters across the snow covered path, feet icy, barely able to support his weight, and up the front steps as he knocked his cold knuckles against the door. He waited, shivering violently, thoughts of America and warm tea and America keeping him from collapsing where he stood.

When America did throw the door open, with a confused "England, what-" he found the appropriate response to be collapsing into his embrace, closing his eyes to just bask in his warmth.

"England," he felt America wrap an arm tightly around him and shut the door, shutting out the last of the cold and the wind and leaving England wrapped in America's heat, "you're freezing dude. Why are you wearing such a light jacket? You should know by now it gets cold at my house this time of year."

"Airport lost luggage, not enough money for taxi, so cold…" he shivered and snuggled closer America.

"You should have told me you were coming," America sighed and kissed the top of his head, "I would have picked you up."

"W-wanted to surprise you," England's teeth chattered as he hugged his love tighter, "so bloody _cold_…"

"Yeah, when this side of the planet tilts away from the sun it does that."

"Your _house_," England buried his nose into the sweatshirt America was wearing in a failing attempt to keep off the cold that was penetrating everywhere. It wasn't as bad as outside in the snow, but it was far from what he needed at that moment.

"Sorry, trying to cut back on the heating bills," America kissed his head again in apology, "Why don't you go upstairs, take a shower to warm yourself up a bit, and change into something of mine that's dry?"

England nodded, but made no move to leave his arms. America sighed and scooped him up, carrying him bridal style up the stairs. Rather than complain or scoff or fidget like he normally would have, England simply wrapped his arms around America's neck, trying to get as close as possible to his only source of warmth.

America dropped him off on his bed and went into the bathroom to start the shower. England shivered as his source of heat left him and he tried to curl into himself, but was stopped by his wet clothes clinging to him. Frustrated, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, shivering even more now that he was shirtless, and tossed the garment aside, not caring where it landed. America emerged from the bathroom and went over to his closet to pull out dry clothes as England removed his pants. When their tasks were done, America handed England an extra pair of flannel pajamas and kissed his forehead.

"I'll go start a fire in the fireplace downstairs to warm things up a bit for you. Take as long as you need."

With that he left the room, closing the door behind him. England shivered in the cold that America had left behind and slunk into the bathroom, grateful to discover that the heat from the shower was already encompassing the room quite nicely. He quickly removed his boxers and stepped into the shower, burning water stinging his cold limbs. After adjusting the temperature to a bearable level, England relaxed, forgoing the cleaning himself part of the shower and simply enjoying the warmth enveloping him. After too few pleasant moments of this however, the water started to turn cold, causing the chill to once again permeate his body. England adjusted the temperature accordingly to no avail; the warm water had run out.

Frustrated, England turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, quickly changing into the flannel pajamas America picked out for him, a bit large but warm. He backtracked upon leaving the bathroom to grab America's bathrobe and put that on as well. It was large, fluffy, and still smelled a bit like his love. Content for now, England took off down the stairs to find America.

The plush, carpeted stairs were a blessing on his bare feet, especially in contrast to the hard, tiled floor once he left the steps. Shivering once more, England pulled the robe tighter around him and peeked into the kitchen. The lights were off and America was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear the rumble of the dishwasher running. Rolling his eyes, England shuffled out of the kitchen and continued wandering around America's freezing house. Of all the times for the boy to suddenly become concerned about his finances, why did it have to be when he was visiting and cold?

England sneezed, loud and echoing in the empty house, and heard the responding "Bless you" from America in the next room. He rounded the corner to find him putting the finishing touches on a roaring fire. He put the grate back in place and stepped back to admire his work for a moment before turning to face England with a smile on his face. This morphed into a more sheepish grin when he took in his wet hair, disgruntled expression, and tapping foot.

"Oh hey, so I started the dishwasher and it completely slipped my mind that it would steal the hot water from your shower. But look," he grabbed to mugs full of a steaming liquid on the nearby table and handed one to England, "I made hot chocolate. And a fire. And I got a bunch of blankets so we can just cuddle by the fire all night or until you warm up or whatever."

England rolled his eyes and sauntered over to the couch, sitting as close to the fire as he could, curling his feet under him to keep them warm and clutching his hot chocolate as tight as he could. America came over and wrapped several blankets around him before grabbing one of his own and curling up on the opposite side of the couch. England glanced over, sipping his drink as he watched America fiddle with his own, sporting that pouty look on his face he usually had whenever he did something wrong and didn't know how to fix it.

England chuckled, he wasn't that upset about the shower, and really, there were other, better ways of getting warm. As America looked up he opened his cocoon of blankets as an invitation. America grinned and eagerly took him up on it by placing his hot chocolate on the table, scooting across the couch and grabbing the end of the blanket to wrap around both of them. England put his mug on the end table and shifted around under the blankets until he was comfortably sitting in America's lap, leaning back into his broad chest, America's arms surrounding him, keeping the blankets around them and the pervading cold out, making him feel safe, secure, and truly warm for the first time since he left the airport.

"Hey," America whispered in his ear as he leaned forward to hold him even tighter, "I'm glad you came."

England sighed and snuggled further into his love and let America's ever present heat envelope him completely. Yes, despite everything else, he was here now.

"I'm glad I did too."


	40. A Daemon's Touch

For the usuk com's Sweethearts week prompt: Close to You.

Enjoy.

* * *

When he was little, America would touch England's daemon all the time.

It wasn't a big deal to them. America was still young and didn't understand the taboo or the implications with breaking it, just that Britannia's lioness fur was soft and it made England happy. England would touch Columbia too, but those moments were few and usually only when America was distressed and needed to be calmed down.

(During those moments she would usually be a rabbit, as she still hadn't settled, and America often wonders if England wanted her to settle that way; cute, lovable, non-threatening, prey.)

As he grew older, as they grew apart, naturally the touching became less, until one day it stopped completely.

* * *

It had been just after the tea party. Or just after England had gotten word of the tea dumped in the harbor, got on a ship, and arrived in America, so really it was about two months after the event. England cornered America in the kitchen and had him sit down, not saying anything, just silently judging him. America fidgeted under his gaze, Columbia a turkey in his lap. She was a turkey more often lately, and America wondered if she would settle like that.

(Nothing wrong with a turkey, she'd insisted, turkeys were noble creatures. Besides, France's daemon was a rooster. Even if fowl was food, they could still put up a fight.)

Eventually England said, "I'm not angry at you," and he didn't sound angry, just tired, as if reprimanding America was getting old and repetitive and he had better things to do, "I know none of this is your fault."

"What if it is?" America wasn't in the mood to be patronized, "What if I've been the one starting the protests? What if I've been acting out?"

England looked stunned for a moment, as if the thought had never crossed his mind, but he got over it and he sighed, "America, you are still a child," he gestured at Columbia, "She still changes her mind about what she wants to be. How on earth can you govern yourself if you're still not sure who you are?"

Columbia bristled at that and jumped on the floor, changing into a wolf to challenge Britannia. She didn't react to her growling, remained calm, poised, imperial. England clicked his tongue and shook his head in disappointment.

That only served to send America into even more of a rage, "That's none of your concern!"

England's eyebrow twitched, "None of my…of course it's my concern! You're my colony, my little brother. Everything you do and everything you are is my concern."

Columbia snarled and began to circle Britannia. America stood up and shouted, "I can take care of myself! Despite what you may think, I'm not a child anymore England!"

England sighed, again, and bent down to scratch behind Columbia's ear. Both nation and daemon froze at the breech in protocol. It had been so long since England touched them like that, America almost forgot what it felt like. It was soothing, familiar, as if all his problems could just melt away if he let them, as if there was none of this building tension between them, as if they weren't colony and empire but just America and England, as if nothing else in the world mattered.

"What happened to us America?" England said as he hit all of the sweet spots he knew she had in that form, "We used to be so close, but lately we're just growing farther apart."

Of course they were growing farther apart, America wanted to shout. He was England's colony, a fact he had known for almost all his existence but was only now starting to realize the implications. Their relationship wasn't supposed to be that of two brothers, like England had played up all his life. He was expected to do England's bidding without complaint, like his servant, his inferior.

America couldn't take it anymore. He and Columbia broke away from England's hypnotizing touch and stormed out, never looking back.

* * *

It would be several centuries before America and England were on friendly speaking terms again, let alone have their relationship repaired enough to reach the sort of trust and intimacy that went along with daemon touching again.

(During their time apart, Columbia finally settled sometime during westward expansion. America, surprisingly, since he'd been waiting for it since before the Revolution, didn't even notice. One day he just woke up and realized she had been an eagle for a few decades and she informed him that she'd be staying that way.

England noticed right away, the next time he saw him. Said an eagle suited him. Britannia didn't look at them, hadn't looked at them since that time in the kitchen decades ago, wouldn't look at them for several more decades.)

They'd never admit to missing England's touch, but Columbia never let anyone other than America touch her, and America was alright with that.

* * *

It was V-E Day. They had just gotten back to England's house after the celebrations. Delighted, joyful, happier than either had been in ages, and tired, oh so tired, America had collapsed in the armchair and England on top of him.

Columbia was perched on the back of the chair, Britannia curled up by its side. England was laughing, still giddy from their victory, and clung to his arms, burying his face into America's shoulder.

America wrapped an arm around England's waist, pulling him even closer and turning his face into England's hair, breathed in his scent, and let his other arm dangle over the arm of the chair.

For the first time since before the Depression, America was content.

Without realizing it, America started stroking Britannia's head. She and England tensed, his grip on America's arms impossibly tight, and America stopped, kicking himself in his head for taking their carefully repaired relationship and tossing it out the window. But the moment passed; Britannia nuzzled his hand and England relaxed into him even more, so America continued petting her.

She was just as soft as he remembered her being as a kid, just as warm and comforting and familiar. As he scratched her neck, England let out a content sigh and reached up to stroke Columbia.

It was like falling, but in a good way, that part between the initial jump and before you realize that the ground is coming up where everything is exciting yet at peace, the greatest feeling in the world. America hadn't realized how much he had missed this, missed England touching him like that, until that moment. If he was content before, then he was in pure bliss now, touching England and being touched by England in a way that was both achingly familiar and incredibly new.

As he pulled England closer, basking in the million good emotions he was feeling, reveling in the little sighs Columbia made as England stroked her wings, America decided he wouldn't trade this, what he had with England, whatever it was, for anything in the world. And from the way England relaxed further into his embrace and the soft purrs coming from Britannia that was alright with him.


	41. Job Hunting

This was done for the third Sweethearts week prompt: Taking Care of Business. Mostly its just drabbles for AU ideas I've had in the past.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Librarian**

"Do you have any overdue books?"

Arthur looked up from the book he was reading behind the desk to see that Alfred Jones, senior star quarterback and one of the most well like guys on campus, was there, smiling that gorgeous, perfect smile at him and placing a stack of books on the counter. He placed the bookmark in his book, shut it, and put it off to the side, giving Alfred the most seductive smile he could muster, "Why would you say that?"

Alfred smirked as he pulled out his library card and handed it over, "Because you've got fine written all over you."

Arthur chuckled as he scanned the card and started checking out the books, "That's got to be your worst one yet."

It was a game they'd been playing for a few months now. Whenever Alfred would check out books, he would feed Arthur a cheesy pick up line, followed by some harmless flirting, and maybe pepper their exchange with actual conversation. It was nice, because at this point Arthur had to admit he was quite lonely, and it was safe, because it was all for fun.

Even if he may possibly have been developing feelings for Alfred, which he wasn't, it was all for fun, which was good, because Alfred was still a student and, technically, Arthur was employed by the university. Even if he wanted it to work, which he didn't, it wouldn't.

"So," Alfred drummed his fingers on the counter as Arthur scanned another book, "What are you doing Friday?"

"Work," Arthur pulled the receipt from the machine and placed it in the book.

"When do you get off?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow and scanned the next book, "Late."

"Oh well," Alfred cleared his throat, "What about Saturday? Are you busy then?"

"I have Saturday off so-"

"Great! Do you want to get lunch or something then?"

Arthur stared at him, book frozen in his hand, "Alfred, I don't think we should…you're a student here and-"

"I don't really care about that," he scratched the back of his neck, "I just really like you and want to spend time with you outside the library. Besides, I'm graduating in May anyway, so it's really none of their business."

"Then wait until May to ask me out," he scanned the book in his hand and ripped out the receipt with a little too much force, "If you're still harboring this ridiculous crush that is."

"I'll still like you," Arthur froze. A blush spread across Alfred's cheeks, "I mean, I've liked you for a while now anyway, so I'm pretty certain that I'll still like you come May."

Arthur sighed and finished checking out Alfred's books, "Then you shouldn't mind waiting until then."

"Fine," Alfred grabbed the pile of books, fingers brushing Arthur's, "So do you want to hang out Saturday?"

"Alfred I thought I just told you-"

"Not a date, just as friends," he shrugged and put the books in his bag, "You can still have friends right?"

Arthur smiled and shook his head. There's was no winning against Alfred, "Very well. We can get lunch as friends if that is what you want."

"Yeah," he said, smile growing more mischievous, "Besides, there will be plenty of time for other stuff after I graduate."

Arthur blushed and looked away, trying not to imagine Alfred in provocative positions as he exited the library.

Suddenly May seemed so far away.

* * *

**Firefighter**

Arthur coughed as the smoke filtered into the room. A brief touch to the door confirmed that the fire was that way, indicating he should go another way. The problem there was that door was the only legitimate exit from the office that he was stuck in. His only other option would be to jump out the window, but he was twenty stories up.

He sat down by the open window and hugged his knees to his chest. Arthur worked on the third floor, a survivable jump, normally never having to go higher than the fifth, which would have been more painful but as long as he didn't land on his head, he was confident he could have survived that too. He was only on the twentieth floor because Bonnefoy called him up. Bonnefoy probably started the fire that was currently eating its way through their office building and slowly choking Arthur with its smoke just so he wouldn't have to give him that raise he deserved. Clever bastard.

As Arthur resigned himself to a slow death by suffocation and considered jumping out the window anyway – at least the impact would be quick and the death relatively painless if he landed right – a loud thud sounded against the door. Everyone else had already evacuated; he was sure he was the last one on this floor before he stupidly got himself stuck here, so who was knocking on the door?

Several more thuds and the door burst open, revealing a fireman decked out in all his gear and the flames slowly spreading into the now open room. Arthur coughed and stood up, leaning heavily against the wall to do so, and the fireman wasted no time in grabbing him, tossing him over his shoulders, and exiting the room.

Arthur clearly remembered them running down the stairs, how many floors exactly he couldn't be sure, but they must have almost been at the bottom because when the stairs collapsed the fireman landed on his back with only a slight noise of discomfort, Arthur safely in his arms on top of him. Arthur tried to get up, but the smoke was too much for him and he found himself collapsing into the fireman's arms again.

That seemed to alert the fireman to their current situation, as he carefully stood up, put Arthur back over his shoulders and exited the burning building.

The fireman got Arthur into the hands of a medic and removed his helmet, and Arthur was delighted to find his savior was quite handsome, sun kissed blonde hair, bright blue eyes, gorgeous Hollywood smile. He winced as he stretched out his back.

"Damn, I think I might have bruised it on that fall," he said, scrunching his face to try and hide the pain as the medic looked him over as she handed Arthur an oxygen mask, "It's not that bad though."

"Alfred if you bruised your back you're not going to be allowed in there," she sighed as she grabbed his shoulders and forced him to sit down, "Let me look you over."

It turned out Alfred had bruised his back, badly, and cracked a few ribs, not as badly, so the medic made him stay by the ambulance as the rest of the firefighters finished putting out the fire.

"So," Alfred said after a while of watching the others work, "Can I at least get a name?"

"Hm?" Arthur looked around and noticed that his eyes were focused on him, "Oh, Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

"Alfred Jones," Alfred held out his hand, "Nice to meet you."

Arthur took his hand and couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips, "Trust me Mr. Jones, the pleasure is all mine."

* * *

**Archeologist**

"Arthur, come look at this."

Arthur was on the other side of the dig site, talking to one of the locals, when Alfred came barreling towards him and tugged on his arm. He had time to briefly excuse himself as his husband dragged him back down the hill towards the site where the team had been digging all morning. They stopped just before the hole, Alfred wasting no time sitting on the edge and lowering himself down.

"C'mon Arthur, you really need to see this."

Arthur rolled his eyes and followed him. As soon as he hit solid ground, Alfred grabbed his hand and started dragging him through the site, waving at their fellow archeologists as they passed but not stopping for small talk.

"Alfred, where are you taking me?" Arthur asked after several minutes of this.

"It's up ahead, you'll see."

There was no arguing with Alfred when he got into this kind of mood, so Arthur sighed and just went along for the ride, reveling in the heat of Alfred's hand the excited aura he gave off.

"There," Alfred stopped suddenly in front of a corner of the site that Arthur hadn't had a chance to personally excavate yet, "I thought you'd want to see this."

Two skeletons were lying in the ground surrounded by pot shards and even a few whole pots that had made it through the ages, arranged around the bodies as if they were an offering. A gravesite then, which was brilliant on its own, Arthur did love dissecting gravesites, but what really caught his attention was the position of the two skeletons. They were lying on their sides in each other's arms, locked in an embrace even in death.

"Can't tell for certain until I do forensics, but from here I'd say they're both female," Alfred said as he thread their fingers together and started swinging their hands back and forth, "So what do you think? Nice surprise right?"

"Yes," Arthur leaned his head on his husband's shoulder as they stared at the long dead lovers, their story waiting to be discovered, "One of your best yet."

* * *

**Author**

Arthur stared at blank screen on his computer, cursor blinking at him mockingly. He was tired of this writing book, tired of staring at that screen day in and day out and producing nothing.

"Alfred!" he called for his assistant, "Alfred where are you?"

"Yes boss?" he appeared around the corner and walked over to where Arthur was sitting at his desk, "What do you need?"

Arthur pulled on his tie until their lips crashed together. Alfred quickly steadied himself on the arms of the chair as Arthur deepened the kiss. He thrust his tongue inside Alfred's mouth and ran it over everything he could reach.

They parted at the same time, gasping for breath. Arthur pulled him down again and began kissing along his jaw line until he reached his ear and whispered, "I need a good shag."

"Yeah okay," he pulled away and grabbed Arthur's wrists, "Why don't you try writing something first so your publisher can stop with the angry calls alright? That's what we agreed on."

Arthur most certainly did not pout as he crossed his arms and stared up at his assistant, "I will write better once I've had a good shag."

"That's what you've been saying everyday this week and you still haven't written anything," Alfred sighed.

"You're supposed to be making it easier for me to write," he leaned back and crossed his legs, "That's why my publisher hired you and why I let you into my home, so you could create the environment I need to write."

"And I'm trying to. And you know I would normally jump at the chance to sleep with you, but you really do need to write something today."

Arthur spun his chair away from Alfred and stared at the blank wall, "If you're going to be like that then fine."

"Arthur," he heard him sigh before he chair was forcefully turned the other way and stopped so he was staring right into Alfred's eyes, "You know I love you right? And I just want you to do write your best?" Arthur nodded, "Trust me, if having sex on the coffee table would help you in anyway, my pants would be off by now, but I really think you should just focus on writing today. We can do that when you've finished the first chapter okay?"

Arthur saw the logic in his argument. That's why he was here, to keep Arthur on track when his wandering mind wandered too far away, and that was one of the many reasons why he loved him so. Arthur nodded and uncrossed his legs, turning his head away so he didn't have to look at him.

Alfred leaned in and kissed his cheek, "There you go. Why don't I make you some coffee to help you work?"

"Tea," Arthur corrected as he turned back and completely faced his computer, staring at the still empty screen, "you know how I like it."

"Two sugars, a dash of milk, and a sprinkle of love," Alfred giggled at his blush as he kissed the top of his head this time, "I know."

As Alfred went off to the kitchen to make his tea, Arthur cracked his knuckles and inhaled deeply.

He had a story to write.


	42. Who Has to Know?

This was for the usuk com's Sweethearts week prompt: Music of the heart. The song is "Dirty Little Secret" by All American Rejects, and it's a gauken AU.

Enjoy.

* * *

Alfred sat in a corner of the bar out of the way of the other patrons, nursing his almost empty beer. Normally he didn't drink like this, yes he had a fake ID, but underage drinking wasn't his thing, even if all his friends did it, but Arthur was playing at this bar tonight, and whenever Arthur was playing, Alfred was always in the audience, no matter what the venue.

The band had played for about two hours, took a break, and played for another few hours. It was getting close to one in the morning, and Alfred figured they had only another song or two before they were done.

"Thank you very much," Arthur said to the few patrons who were still there and paying attention, "We're going to play one last song for you tonight, for a certain someone. You know who you are."

Alfred sat up a little straighter as the band played the opening chords, waiting until Arthur came in with the lyrics.

"_Let me know that I've done wrong,  
When I've known this all along.  
I go around a time or two,  
Just to waste my time with you."_

Oh. Well. Yes, Alfred knew this song. And he knew why Arthur would sing it.

"_Tell me all that you've thrown away,  
Find out games you don't want to play.  
You are, the only one that needs to know."_

They had been secretly dating for a little over a year now. Alfred had been insisting they keep it secret, not because he was ashamed of Arthur or anything, to be honest he was in love with him, but because his parents still didn't know he was gay, and he wasn't sure how they'd react. They'd kicked Matthew out after they found the weed and the alcohol and the condoms; what would they do when they found out there other son was a homo?

"_I'll keep you my dirty little secret.  
Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret.  
My dirty little secret,  
Who has to know?"_

Arthur had confronted him about it the other night. He was tired of hiding their relationship, and Alfred understood, but he still didn't want to confront his parents about it just yet, and explained that to Arthur. He had called Alfred a few choice names and stormed out. They'd forgiven each other the next day, but the issue still remained unresolved.

Arthur was clearly singing this song as a response to their argument, but what did he mean by it?

"_When we live such fragile lives,  
It's the best way we survive."_

That sounded good. It obviously meant that Arthur understood Alfred's predicament, that in order for his relationship with his family to survive, because it was so fragile, they needed to keep it a secret.

"_I go around a time or two,  
Just to waste my time with you."_

Okay, not so positive. Alfred loved Arthur, and he thought the feeling was mutual. He didn't like to think that they were just wasting time with each other. Maybe Arthur was fed up with the secret keeping.

"_Tell me all that you've thrown away,  
Find out games you don't want to play.  
You are, the only one that needs to know."_

Well he's already told Arthur everything he'd be throwing away if they were exposed. Was that his ultimatum? Was Arthur making him choose between him and his family? But no, they're the only ones that need to know. So, Arthur's okay with it staying secret?

Perhaps Alfred was thinking about this too hard.

"_Who has to know?  
The way she feels inside,  
These thoughts I can't deny." _

So, Arthur is considering Alfred's feelings on the matter. That's good. That means he might be okay with it.

"_These sleeping dogs won't lie,  
And now I try to lie.  
It's eating me apart.  
Trace this life back."_

Or not. Not if lying about their relationship is tearing him apart so much that he'd rather…just not. Is that what that last line meant?

"_I'll keep you my dirty little secret.  
Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret._"

Yes, he'll keep them a secret, but is that all Alfred is to him? A regret? That's a depressing thought.

"_My dirty little secret.  
Dirty little secret.  
Dirty little secret.  
Who has to know?"_

And it ends on a 'who has to know,' which Alfred has taken to mean, "Yes Alfred, I agree to keep our relationship a secret, because I love and respect you and understand your situation." So, that's good, right?

He was going to have to talk to Arthur.

* * *

Alfred waited outside the bar after it closed for Arthur. He had been busy cleaning up with the rest of the band, as he usually did, and usually Alfred would have left by now. Arthur understood, and he didn't mind as long as he saw that Alfred was there watching him at some point in the night.

It was just after 1:30 when Arthur finally came out. He spotted Alfred, smiled, and started walking, guitar slung over his shoulder. Alfred jogged a bit to catch up to him and then fell back so they were walking at the same pace.

"Thank you for coming," Arthur said, "I know you're not as comfortable in those establishments as you are at parties, but I appreciate it."

"It's no problem, I'm happy to do it," he scratched the back of his head, a nervous habit he'd had since childhood, and Arthur immediately took notice, "So, about that last song you sang…what did you mean by it?"

He raised an eyebrow, "What did I mean by it?"

"Yeah, because I've been going back and forth in my head, does he want this," Alfred pointed between the two of them to indicate what he meant, "to stay secret or does he want us to come out with it and damn the consequences?"

"Oh," Alfred noticed a blush starting to creep up on Arthur's face, "That song…wasn't about you. Or us. Francis, you know, the drummer? He finally mastered it on Rock Band the other day, so we were just poking fun at him."

"Oh. I see," he was just over thinking it. He had a habit of doing that whenever Arthur was involved, maybe because, after relationship after relationship with girls failing, he just wanted to make sure he got it right with Arthur, "I was just being silly then."

"But, uh," Arthur cleared his throat, "I have something I would like to, say about that. If you don't mind."

"Oh, uh, I-I guess we could…" So this was it. This was the part where Arthur told him he was tired of living a lie and gave him the ultimatum: him or his family? Alfred was only a junior in high school; he wasn't ready for this kind of responsibility yet.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you." Well that was promising. Alfred snuck a glance at Arthur and saw him looking at the pavement, "I guess I'm just so used to my parents not caring about my sexuality I didn't take into account that yours would," he looked up into Alfred's eyes as he said, "It's your life and they're your parents. You should tell them when you're ready to, not because I'm pressuring you."

Alfred felt the smile spread across his face and saw Arthur's blush deepen just a little, "Thanks Arthur. That really means a lot to me."

"Yes, well," he cleared his throat and looked away again, "I've already talked about it with my parents, and they've agreed that you can stay with us if your parents do kick you out when tell them, so at the very least you don't have to worry about that."

"Ah well that's good," Alfred glanced down at Arthur's hand swinging freely between them, "thanks for that too."

Arthur nodded and continued staring ahead of him. Alfred was feeling a little bolder after that and reached over and grabbed his hand, swinging them slightly as the continued walking down the dark street. Arthur glanced at their intertwined hands briefly, but didn't say anything, instead letting the small smile on his face do the talking.

He'd tell his parents eventually, he was sure. Right now he'd take baby steps, slowly coming to terms with himself, with them. And maybe by then, his parents will be more open to the idea of a gay son.

Until then, it was their secret. Who had to know?


	43. Time Off

This was for the Sweethearts Week Prompt: Holiday.

Characters/Pairings include: USUK, Thailand (Kiet), Netherlands (Lars), Rome (Romulus), Germania (Helmut), Austria, Italy, China. Mentions of Germany/Japan, France.

Enjoy.

* * *

The kitchens had to be up and running by five so breakfast could be on the table by seven. Kiet, the head chef, was always down there a little after four to make sure everything went off without a hitch, lest there be a repeat of the time breakfast was late and the Queen tried to make it himself.

What he didn't expect to find was the King nervously pacing around the kitchen at four in the morning, considering that he usually liked to sleep in late and never had much of a need to enter the kitchens; if he wanted food, someone would bring it to him.

"Your Majesty?" he asked, halting the King's pacing, "What are you doing down here? Do you need something?"

He smiled that nervous, I've-got-a-plan-but-I'm-not-sure-if-the-Queen-will-like-it smile and began rubbing his hands together.

"Yeah Kiet, I need a favor…"

* * *

Lars liked to be on the grounds by six. Technically he had a staff that he could delegate for these kinds of things, but Spades Palace was known for having the most elaborate and beautiful gardens the world over, and Lars took pride in doing his work himself.

When he was making his rounds on the rose garden he was surprised to see the King wandering around by himself, staring at the red and white roses the Queen favored with intense concentration.

"I'd advise you not to pick those Sire," Lars said, startling him out of whatever thought he'd been on, "They'll cut up your hand and I've just got them looking the way I wanted."

"Ah no," he held up his hands defensively, "I wouldn't…I was just looking and thinking and planning. I know better than to take a flower out of your gardens without asking, considering what happened last time."

During the first year of his marriage, the King had tried to sneak a lovely tulip out of the main garden for his Queen. Lars had caught him though, and made absolutely and painfully sure he knew that no one, monarch or not, messed with Lars's gardens.

"Well why are you here?" Lars glanced around the garden only to find they were truly alone, "You're usually not out this far unless the Queen dragged you."

"Yes well," the King glanced around before leaning in to say, "I kinda need to ask you something…"

* * *

Romulus and Helmut were at the stables by eight. They had new recruits coming in and were already late.

"This is your fault for sleeping in," Helmut sighed as he saddled his horse, "Why were you out so late last night?"

"My cute little grandson is in town!" Romulus said as he mounted his horse, "Of course I needed to spend as much time with him as I could before he was whisked back to Hearts."

"I don't think taking him out to taverns and picking up girls with him constitutes actual bonding time with your grandson," Helmut mounted his horse as well.

"I think someone is just jealous that their grandson wouldn't get laid if he wasn't King of Hearts."

Helmut's heated response was cut short by the sudden appearance of their King just outside the stables.

"Sir Alfred," both men bowed their heads but stayed on their horses.

"Is everything alright?" Romulus asked.

"Oh, yeah, everything's great," he smiled as he walked to the front of their horses, "You two are running a bit late aren't you?"

"Someone was out with the Jack of Hearts until the wee hours of the morning," Helmut shot an accusing glare at his companion.

"That's great," the King said distractedly, "So, it's really good I met you here."

The two knights spared a look at each other before Romulus addressed their King, "Do you need us for anything Sir?"

He took a deep breath and let it out, "Actually, I kinda do…"

* * *

It wasn't that Roderich didn't like the Spades Kingdom. It was charming in its own right, quaint even. It was certainly richer than Hearts and more industrialized than Diamonds, but he did miss being away from Clubs for so long. As the Jack however, he had to push through for the sake of diplomacy.

He wasn't the only Jack here either. The Jack of Hearts, an energetic boy named Feliciano that he had practically raised, was in Spades to discuss current policy decisions with the King and Queen, not that either of them had seen them much, spending most of their visit talking to Yao about an appropriate time to meet with the King and Queen. Really, how unprofessional. He had scheduled his visit with Yao days ago; they should have been expecting him and arranged their schedules around his visit at once.

He and Feliciano had agreed to their early lunch at ten however, so there was at least that to look forward to.

It was pleasant as far as meals with Feliciano went. He was a tad overenthusiastic, but at this point in their relationship Roderich was used to it.

Partway through their meal, the door burst open in a very rude manor. Roderich was about to tell off the servant who was disturbing them only to see that it was the King of Spades who had intruded on their private meal.

"Your Highness," Roderich placed his tea cup down on the table so he could stand and bow properly, "I wasn't expecting you today. Yao was telling me-"

"Alfred!" Feliciano leaped up from his chair before he could stop him and caught the King in a hug, "I've been here for days and I haven't seen you! Yao keeps saying you're busy and that's what Grandpa was saying too! Is it true Alfred? Are you busy? If you're working so hard you really should take a break you know!"

"Yeah, sorry about that," the King quickly returned Feliciano's hug, "There've been a lot of problems out in the country, and between the economy and the famine in Diamond's making relations difficult Arthur and I have been a bit swamped."

"Completely understandable," Roderich gestured at the table, "If you have the time, would you care to join us?"

"I'd love to, but I've still got some things to take care of for this afternoon," he scratched the back of his neck, "Actually, I was wondering if you could help with something Roderich."

He certainly wasn't expecting that, "If you require my services, I will be more than happy to help in any way that I can."

"Oh! Is it a surprise for Arthur?" Feliciano asked, bubbling over with excitement, "It is isn't it?"

"Yeah, well, I was thinking-"

"Oh, that's so romantic!" Feliciano's smile grew if such a thing was possible, "Please let me help to! I love romantic things! Just last week Ludwig was planning something for Kiku and he let me help with the-"

"Yeah, you can help Feli. I'd appreciate that," the King laughed before he focused his attention back to Roderich, "but there's something specific I need from you…"

* * *

Arthur leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He's been up since four working on these documents, more plans for the economy and issues pertaining to the countryside, and he was tired. His eyes hurt, his back was sore, but it was only noon. He still had several more hours of pouring over documents, and then he had counsels to meet with and armies to inspect with Alfred.

Speaking of his husband, he'd been surprisingly absent all day. Not that Arthur cared, he could read bloody documents by himself without the King to hold his hand, but maybe, perhaps, he missed the idiot's company, just a little.

The knock on the door drove Arthur out of these thoughts. "Come in," he groaned.

It was Yao, his Jack, and he gave a quick bow before saying, "My apologies Arthur, but the King requests your presence."

"Does he now?" Arthur smirked, "Well you can tell him where to find me then. I've still got about a hundred of these to read."

"I will be taking care of those for you," he approached the desk and pulled Arthur out of his seat, "The King has requested your presence, and he has asked me to use whatever force necessary to get it there."

"Alright, I'm going," Arthur sighed and brushed off his coat as he headed for the door, "Just where am I supposed to find the idiot anyhow?"

"Simply follow the rose petals," Yao waved him off as he settled himself in Arthur's seat and pulled the top document off the still obscenely large pile.

Arthur was about to ask him what he meant until he stepped into the hallway and saw for himself. A path of red and white rose petals was scattered across the blue carpets. As he followed it, he discovered that it led out of the palace, through the grounds, and into one of the Royal's private gardens, where he found his husband sprawled out on picnic blanket holding a glass of wine, elaborate lunch set up around him.

"Hey Artie," Alfred took a sip of wine, "glad you could join me."

Arthur crossed his arms as he tried and failed to hold back his smile, "Well you had Yao all but force me to come."

"For good reason," he patted the empty spot besides him until Arthur sat down in it. He offered him a glass of wine as well, "So what do you think?"

Arthur looked around. They were in his most favorite spot on the grounds, the center of the tea garden. The spread was all of their favorite foods, a request filled by Kiet certainly. The location and the rose petals leading to it spoke of Lars's involvement. He could hear music playing, and sure enough he could spy several musicians playing for them hiding out of sight in the bushes, Roderich's doing no doubt, since he was in town.

They really must meet with him and Feliciano soon and there was still so much work to do, Alfred didn't expect them to spend the whole afternoon out here-

"This is lovely," he sighed, "but you know we'll have to go back to work eventually."

"Relax, I've got that covered," Alfred winked. Arthur merely looked at him in complete disbelief, "Romulus and Helmut agreed to screen all new requests and proposals for us and reschedule the troop inspection, because I know you were dreading that. Yao is doing the rest of your paperwork, and agreed to meet with the counsels or at least get them to come another day, and Feliciano's currently trying to talk to Francis and see what's going on there, although he had to do that for Ludwig anyway, but he agreed to let me know if anything came up."

Arthur swirled his wine glass, "Are you saying we have the afternoon off?"

"Yup, just you and me all afternoon to do whatever you want," he smiled and kissed the top of his head, "We've been working so hard, I figured we could use a break before we both explode."

Arthur set his wine glass down carefully on the ground and kissed his husband properly on the lips. When they broke away, he whispered, "Thank you, love."

Alfred kissed his temple, "For you, anything."


	44. Big Damn Hero

**This was written for a kink meme prompt like a while ago. I'm trying to get back into writing again so I'm going to start with editing things.**

**Enjoy.  
**

* * *

England hated Family Day.

It was a day Sweden made when he realized that Sealand really didn't care all that much about England and vice versa. Once a month he would send Sealand to spend the whole day, that's a full _twenty four hours_, with England. And England _hated_ it with a passion. He knew Sealand hated it just as much as he did if how much he complained and begged England to just take him home already were anything to go by.

Recently however England had come up with a brilliant plan to make Family Day bearable: invite America along too. In theory it seemed like a crazy idea, why would he want to _add _to his headache, but Sealand and America got along spectacularly and would spend the day _out_ and _away from England_ so he could get some work done in peace. And afterwards, when Sealand went home, he got to spend some time with just America. In the end, it was a win-win situation for everyone involved.

Except, of course, the day when America couldn't make it.

"_Sorry England,_" America sighed over the phone, "_The Senate is meeting tomorrow to finally discuss that bill and I really need to be there._"

"I, well, th-that's quite alright," it really wasn't, but he forced that stiff upper lip he was known for and carried on, "I'm sure Sealand and I will have a brilliant time even without you here."

"_Well don't go making me feel jealous now_," he chuckled, "_I've gotta go. Tell the kid I said hi when you see him!_"

"Yes, right, will do," England hung up the phone before he could say anything else and silently cursed the situation in his head.

He was now faced with the task of entertaining a child that wanted nothing to do with him for a whole day.

Tomorrow was going to be hell.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! went Sealand's rubber ball against the wall of England's office.

Tick, tick, tick, went the clock on the wall of England's office.

Scratch, scratch, scratch, went the pen England was writing with in England's office.

THUMP! Tick. Scratch. In a song, of sorts, for about an hour.

THUMP! Tick. Scratch. THUMP! Tick. Scratch. THUMP! Tick. Scratch. THUMP! CRASH!

England looked up from his paper work to find that Sealand had knocked the clock off the wall. "See?" he reprimanded as he stood up and walked over, "That's why I told you _not_ to play with that in here! Look at the mess! Don't touch it!" He pushed Sealand out of the way as he inspected he damage, "Now I need a new clock."

Sealand pouted and put the ball in his pocket, "What am I supposed to do Jerk England?" he wandered over to a chair and plopped down, "I'm _bored_. This place is _boring_, you're _boring_."

"And being with you is such a thrill for me," England sneered as he left the room, "I'm going to get a broom to clean up your mess. Stay here, and for the love of god, _don't touch anything_."

As soon as he was gone, Sealand ran over to the desk and started flipping through his papers.

"These are no fun," he sighed after a while, "All finances and junk. Where are the secret MI6 files? Or better yet, where are the official nationhood papers?"

"Sorry, I seem to have left those at _home_," England scoffed as he entered the room and pointed the broom handle at Sealand, "Get away from my desk. You've caused enough trouble already."

Sealand crossed his arms and put his feet on the desk in protest. England rolled his eyes and gave up, focusing instead on sweeping the glass.

"Where's Bartholomew at?" he wondered out loud at he went to throw the glass away at the trash can by his desk, "He should have heard a crash like that."

"I sent him out a while ago to get me ice cream," England paused in his task and glared and Sealand, "Don't worry, I told him it was for you."

"You can't, Sealand, you don't just send other people's assistants to do your bidding!"

"What else I'm a supposed to do!" he kicked away from the desk, causing the chair to roll back until it hit the wall, "You won't let me _do_ anything, just sit here and watch you work!"

"I thought," England finished throwing out the glass and turned towards the broken clock on the floor so his back was to Sealand, "I thought, since you want to be a nation so bad, you'd like to see what a nation _actually does_," he turned back to glare at him, "I didn't think you'd be such a brat about it!"

"Yeah because watching you sitting around and _write stuff_ all day is the best," Sealand grumbled and sunk further into the chair, "I wish America was here. He's way more fun than you."

England froze for a moment before furry took over. He marched over to Sealand, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him out of the chair.

"Ow!" he winced and tried to pull out of England's tight grip to no avail, "Jerk, why are you-"

"If you're such a fan of _breaking clocks_," he dragged him out of the office, "You're going to help me _get another one_."

"Oh joy, a shopping trip," Sealand rolled his eyes, "Seriously, it's no wonder you have no friends."

England snapped and forcefully turned Sealand so they were facing each other, "Would you shut up for just five bloody seconds!" he shouted in his face, "Ever since you got here it's been nothing but whining and moaning! Well I've had it! It's not like I want you here either!"

The words were out of England's mouth before he realized he was saying them. Sealand looked like he was about to cry, but before England could stutter out an apology, he had kicked him rather hard in the shin and made his escape, shouting, "Jerk!" over his shoulder.

Before England fully understood what had happened, Sealand was already out of the building.

England had immediately run after Sealand, but he was small and quick and evaded him with ease. He asked just about everyone he met on the street if they saw a boy in a sailor suit. Most hadn't, but some had, and England had spent the better part of his afternoon chasing down whatever leads he could to find Sealand.

A fire truck passed him on the street. As he stared after it he felt his stomach clench, and somehow just _knew_ Sealand was wherever that truck was going. Never one to question his gut, England chased after the fire truck.

It stopped in front of a burning school building. Outside stood the congregation of teachers and students, with the teachers and older students trying to calm down the younger ones. The firefighters jumped off the fire truck that England followed and joined the others already in action.

"Sh, calm down Nathan," an older girl was saying to a young boy, "It's alright. We all got out, and that's the important thing."

"B-but," Nathan sniffled and wiped at his eyes, "P-Peter's still inside!"

"Peter?" a nearby teacher asked, "Last I checked there were no Peters on the roster."

"He doesn't exactly go to the school," the girl admitted, "He just kind of showed up today…"

And that was all England needed to hear. He rushed into the building before the firefighters outside had a chance to shout "Hey you stay back!"

England quickly realized that running into a building that was currently _on fire_ when he still had no idea where Sealand _was_ in said building was not the best of plans, but he had already made his choice, and he wasn't about to change his mind now.

"Sealand!" he shouted as he made his way through the burning rubble, "Sealand! Can you hear me?"

The smoke was starting to get to England. He coughed and rubbed at his stinging eyes, refusing to turn back now, "Sealand!"

"E-England!" he heard a small voice cough and call from somewhere above him. Ignoring the flames, England sprinted forward and up what remained of the stairs.

"Sealand!" he called out again, trying his best to peer through the smoke, "Sealand, where are you?"

"E-England!"

He followed the voice down the hall and kicked open what was left of one of the doors. Inside was Sealand, curled up in the corner of what was once a classroom, coughing, trying not to cry and failing.

England didn't say anything. He charged through the flames, picked up Sealand in his arms, and left the room. When he got to the stairs, however, he discovered that they were mostly gone, the skeletal remains engulfed in flames.

"Sealand," he whispered into the boy's ear, "I'm going to need you to trust me and hold on tight, alright?"

He felt Sealand nod and cling to his shoulders tightly. Without hesitating, England slammed his foot hard on the already weakened floorboards, breaking them, and the two of them to fell to the floor below. He landed on his feet, clutching Sealand tight to his chest, and felt a pain sear his ankle, but he didn't stop to think about it as he ran out of the building into the fresh, smoke free air.

A firefighter found them as soon as they made it outside and led them over to a nearby ambulance. There they were given oxygen and treated for their minor burns as well as England's sprained ankle. All in all they were alright. The medics congratulated them on their surprisingly alright condition while the firefighters reprimanded England for doing something so reckless, telling him to just let them do their job next time, and he apologized profusely.

"England," he looked over as Sealand tugged on his sleeve after everyone left them alone, "I'm sorry I broke your clock."

England hesitated before pulling Sealand into a hug, "That's quite alright lad, I forgive you. I'm, sorry I snapped at you before."

Sealand tentatively returned the hug, "So you…don't hate me?"

"No," England hugged him a little tighter, "I don't hate you."

"I don't hate you either," Sealand buried his face into England's chest, "but you're still a jerk."

"And you're still a brat," England laughed as he kissed his head, "but, I can handle it."

"You seriously went into the building after him?" America laughed. England had just finished telling him about the most recent Family Day during the lunch break of one of their infamous world meetings, "And you're the one always telling me not to do stupid things!"

"Yes, well," England blushed and cleared his throat as he shifted his weight to his good ankle, "Desperate situations call for desperate actions, so-"

"Oh England," America draped an arm across his shoulders, "If you want to copy me and be a hero so bad, I would be more than happy to give you tips! All you have to do is ask."

"I wasn't-"

"Ow!" America suddenly shouted and clutched his leg. They both turned to see a rather upset Sealand pulling his leg back.

"Don't make fun of him!" he shouted as he took a step forward, "He's more of a hero than you think, Jerk America!"

"I, okay," America put his hands up and backed away, "Sorry."

Sealand nodded before running off to bug Latvia. England tried and failed to hold back his laughter.

"It wasn't _that_ funny," America pouted.

"You're quite right," England said between giggles, "I'm being extremely polite only laughing this much."

America pouted some more before finally breaking into a smile, "Well of course you're a hero. You hang around with me, so it's only natural that some of my awesome rubbed off on you."

"Keep telling yourself that."

America looked down at his watch, "We still have time before the meeting starts back up again. Want to get ice cream? My treat, from one hero to another. We can bring Sealand too."

England looked over at where Sealand and Latvia were laughing and couldn't help the small smile that crept on his face.

"I'd like that."


	45. Empty

**This was written for usxuk's Summer Camp Event for the prompt "If I didn't have you." I haven't really been inspired so I haven't really written anything for it this year, but I did manage to come up with this.**

**Pairing is USUK.  
**

**Enjoy.  
**

* * *

The sun hit Alfred's eyes early that morning. He turned over and tried to ignore it, wanting to go back to sleep; he'd been having such a good dream. Unconsciously he shifted closer to the warmth on the other side of the bed.

And that's when Alfred woke up. Because there wasn't anyone on the other side of the bed, there never had been. He lived alone, had for the past five years, and he was single, so it shouldn't be surprising that he woke up in bed by himself.

Still, for a brief moment he'd thought for sure that _someone_ was supposed to be there with him, and now that there wasn't, he felt sort of empty inside. Like there was this big part of him that was missing.

Strange.

Alfred concluded that it must have just been aftereffects from his dream, got out of bed, and went about his day.

* * *

"_We can figure this out, work around it somehow. You don't have to do this."_

"_I, I have to Alfred. You must understand its better this way. For everyone, especially you."_

"_For me? What about you? What about us?"_

"_Alfred…"_

* * *

"Alfred?"

Alfred was snapped out of his thoughts. His head shot up to the source of the voice, his friend Kiku, who he was supposed to be eating lunch with, but his mind had been drifting all over the place since this morning, "Sorry Kiku, what did you say?"

Concern filled Kiku's eyes as he asked, "Is everything alright? You seem a bit distracted today."

"I'm fine," he closed his eyes and was assaulted by visions of green eyes, thick eyebrows, and a soft smile whispering his name, "I just had a weird dream last night."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kiku ask as he took as sip of his tea and carefully set it down on the table, "Dreams are often our subconscious's way of giving us important messages. Perhaps if you talk about it, you can figure out what yours is trying to say."

Alfred laughed, but it sounded hollow even to him, "It's fine. I'm fine. I don't even remember the dream; it's just been bugging me."

"I see," Kiku closed his eyes and took another sip of tea.

For a second, Alfred thought he was someone else – green eyes, thick eyebrows, a soft smile (but not in public, never in public, that smile was just for him) – but it only lasted a moment and was gone in an instant.

"Kiku, do you ever feel like something is missing? Like there's this great, important part of you that you're forgetting about?"

"I cannot say that I have," he opened his eyes, looking straight at Alfred, and set his cup down again, "Why do you ask?"

The green eyes danced around in his head, and that empty feeling grew, "No reason."

* * *

"_Are you going to do it again?"_

"_Don't give me that look, Alfred, you know I don't have a choice."_

"_You always have a choice. You can stay with me."_

"_I, I can't. Not yet. Someday, I promise, but I still have things to do."_

"_It hurts. Every time you leave it hurts."_

"_Don't fret, love. By this time tomorrow you won't even remember."_

"_I know. But it'll still hurt."_

* * *

Alfred had been feeling strangely empty for a month when he first saw him.

He was sitting on a park bench, reading book, looking for all the world looking like any other average person in the city. But something about him was different. Alfred couldn't put it to words if he tried, but something drew him to the green eyed man sitting on a bench reading his book, and suddenly he had a burning desire to get to know him, or at the very least, learn his name.

"Is anyone sitting here?" he asked.

The man jumped about a foot in the air and glared at Alfred as if he was getting ready to tell him off, but as he got a good look at Alfred, his face went pale and he shook his head quickly, eyes darting back to the book.

"Cool," Alfred plopped down on the bench next to him. The man scooted away, but Alfred was determined, and a determined Alfred usually got what he came for, "I'm Alfred, by the way, Alfred Jones."

The man nodded in acknowledgment but kept his eyes on his book.

Alfred frowned and leaned his head back on the bench, "Nice weather we're having today, don't you think?"

The man shrugged, but his eyes darted away from his book to Alfred. Alfred offered him a friendly smile, but that only made his cheeks color and he looked back at his book again.

"Have we met before?" Alfred asked, "Because you seem kinda familiar."

"You must be mistaken. We have never met," the man closed his eyes and inhaled sharply through his nose. After a moment he shut his book, shoving it in his bag as he stood up, "I'm sorry, I've things to do and must be off."

"Oh, you're British?" the man turned and gave him a panicked look, "Relax, I don't care. Well, I think it's kinda cool, I don't get to meet British people very often, but I'm not going to hold it against you or anything if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not," he started, but stopped himself, "I'm very busy, Alfred, was it? I've things to do and I can't, I've got to go."

"It's fine," Alfred smiled, the man looked away, "I'm sure you've got more important things to do than chat with me. Can I get your name at least?"

"My name is of no consequence," he tightened his jaw and gave him a stiff nod, "Good day, Alfred."And with that he was gone.

Alfred sighed and looked up at the clouds. It took him a while to realize that throughout the entire conversation, he hadn't felt empty.

* * *

"_Why do you keep coming back?"_

"_I'm sorry?"_

"_If you're just going to leave again, why do you bother coming back?"_

"_Alfred…"_

"_If your mission is so damn important, why don't you just leave me alone and let me live the rest of my life in peace?"_

"_I can't."_

"_Why the hell not?"_

"_Because I hurt too."_

* * *

"I'm starting to think you're stalking me," the man, whose name still managed to elude him despite this being their sixth meeting, said.

"I take this train all the time," Alfred smiled as subway slowed down at another stop. More passengers got out, but the green eyed man stayed, "I'm surprised you haven't noticed me before."

"This isn't my normal train," he admitted as they started moving again, "I missed the first one."

"Maybe you should miss it more," Alfred suggested.

The man smiled back, although it didn't quite reach his eyes, "Maybe."

They sat next to each other in silence for two more stops before the green eyed man stood up, "This is my stop."

"Can I get a name this time?"

His mouth twitched as he ducked out of the subway door, "Not yet."

* * *

"_Alfred?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_This is all to protect you, you know."_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_You know I love you right?"_

"_Would it kill you to say it more?"_

"_Maybe."_

"_Well, how about saying it to me once in a while when I can actually remember it."_

"_Alfred, I love you. Whether you remember it or not, that will never change."_

"_I love you too, Arthur."_

* * *

"Alfred?"

Alfred woke up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room next to a very familiar face. He was in a hotel room, and Arthur was sitting in a chair next to his bed, hand grabbing his arm.

"You passed out in the middle of the street," Arthur explained as Alfred sat up and looked around the room. It was a nice room this time, king sized bed, decent view of the city, much better than that dump they had him in last time, "I didn't want to cause a scene, so I just brought you back to my hotel room, but I haven't-"

"Arthur," Arthur's grip on his arm tightened as Alfred smiled, "It's good to see you again."

"How long-"

"Just now, actually," he laughed and grabbed Arthur's hand, "It feels silly that it took this long, but it always does," he lifted the hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles, "I missed you."

"And I you," Arthur leaned forward and touched his cheek, "You remember everything?"

"Yeah," he sighed and leaned back down on the bed, gently tugging at Arthur's hand until he joined him, "I remember everything."

"So," Arthur cleared his throat, "You remember that, when I leave I'll have to-"

"Yeah yeah, the flashy light thing and then I forget you ever existed. Company policy and all that," Alfred rolled onto his side so he was facing him, and Arthur did the same, "We can worry about that later. I finally have you back, so let's just enjoy the now."

Arthur's smile was genuine, the first in a while, as he closed the distance between them, whispering, "Let's," against his lips before finally bringing him into a kiss.

* * *

Alfred woke up that morning with the sun in his eyes and an empty bed, and although that's how he'd always woken up every day before, for some reason today it left him feeling empty.


	46. Prince Alfred's Grand Adventure

**USUK Cardverse AU and that's really all you need to know about it for now. If you tempt me I might sequel maybe?  
**

**Enjoy.  
**

* * *

"We're marrying you off to the King of Diamonds," the Queen of Spades informed her younger son one morning.

The Prince of Spades, Alfred, promptly spat out his oatmeal, "What?"

"The King of Diamonds is looking for a Queen," his mother explained as she calmly continued eating, "We've been looking for ways to strengthen an alliance with them, and this is the perfect opportunity. You're of marrying age, have been for a few years now and quite frankly you're not going to do any better."

Alfred looked down at his food. As the second born child of the King and Queen, his future outlook was not good. His brother, Matthew, older than him by a grand total of five minutes, was the heir to the throne of Spades. Alfred hadn't seen much of his brother since they were ten, when he was taken away from the world of childhood games and sucked into one of tutors and court etiquette. No one much cared what Alfred got up, that is until he turned fourteen and became of age to marry.

Overnight his every action had become something for his parents to scrutinize and criticize. For the past two years nothing he did was ever good enough for his future spouse, and he was considered a failure and an embarrassment. It had gotten to the point where the King and Queen had hoped they could just marry him off to some rich noble family and get him out of their hair. The prospect of sealing and alliance and getting rid of their nuisance of a son was more than they could hope for.

His parents' minds were set; there was no use arguing his case. Besides, Alfred thought as he turned back to his oatmeal, maybe being the Queen of Diamonds wouldn't be so bad. He'd be an important person, with important responsibilities, that would be thrust upon him at the tender age of sixteen. He knew little about Diamonds, so he'd have to learn whatever he could to be an effective Queen. The King, who he'd met on occasion when he visited the palace, would be even more controlling of his life then his parents.

"A delegation from Diamonds will be here tomorrow morning," the Queen continued, "Make sure you're presentable when they get here."

"Yes, Mother," he said as he took the next bite of food.

Mentally he started preparing for his escape.

* * *

The only problem with running away from home, other than the escaping the palace part, which he was working on, was that he had nowhere else to go. Alfred had spent his entire life behind the palace walls and knew no one on the outside and almost nothing about what life was like.

Still, his choices were to either stay here and marry the King of Diamonds or try his luck on his own, and the latteroption was looking better and better by the hour. And if he was going to be on his own, he was going to need some of his own money, or to be more accurate, his parents' money. But he was sure they wouldn't miss it.

That night Alfred snuck down to the Royal Treasure Room intent on raiding it.

He was surprised to find that he wasn't alone.

Alfred crept through the shadows and passed the palace guards to the treasure room and found the lock already picked. He pushed the door open, barely touching it so it swung silent on its hinges, and found himself staring at the back of man in a red jacket, crouched over some of the shinier jewels in the back of the room.

"Hm," he picked up a large, blue gem and held it up to the light, "Yes, these are good. These will do just fine." He pulled a canvas bag out of his pocket and started shoveling gems into it.

When he turned his head Alfred realized he had seen his face before. There was a pirate epidemic, even Alfred, as sheltered as he was aware of it, and the coastal capitol of Spades was a constant victim of piracy. The notorious Captain Kirkland's face plastered every wall of Spades, including palace ones. The citizens were more familiar with his face than that of their King.

And currently, he was in the Royal Treasure Room, snatching ever blue jewel in sight.

Alfred tried to back out of the room, but knocked over a stack of gold coins with his elbow. Quick as a flash, Captain Kirkland had drawn a hidden knife and held it against Alfred's throat. Alfred swallowed and tried his very best not to move while Kirkland sized him up.

"You seem familiar," he said with a raised eyebrow, "Have we met before?"

"Uh, no," Alfred replied with a laugh, "No, I think I'd of remembered meeting you."

"Interesting."

Footsteps sounded outside in the hallway. Kirkland nudged the door shut with his foot and backed Alfred up against the wall until whoever it was passed. When they were gone he stepped back and pulled his knife away. It was still out and pointed at Alfred, but it was no longer against his throat, which was a relief.

"You could have shouted," He said, "I would have killed you, but you could have alerted the guards. There's no way I could have made it past all of them. Why didn't you shout?"

"Death isn't really high on my list today," Alfred chuckled, "And seeing as I'm here for the same reason you are, shouting wouldn't have done me much good."

"I see," he sheathed the knife and returned it to an inner pocket as he extended his hand, "Captain Arthur Kirkland, pirate."

Alfred laughed as he shook his hand, "Nice to meet you, Captain."

"Arthur's fine for now," he said as he retracted his hand, "Do you have a name, Chuckles?"

"You can call me Al. Al Jones." Rather than run around with the fairly obvious Williams surname, Alfred had taken 'Jones' from one of his favorite adventure stories growing up. Hopefully the simple nickname would do.

"Al then," Arthur turned back to the jewels and began picking up his discarded bags, "What's your story? Master thief I'm guessing, since you got past palace security. Surprised I've never heard of you, then again it's been a while since I've been on land."

"What?" Alfred stopped fiddling with the gold coin in his hand, "No, nothing of the sort!"

"Disgruntled servant, perhaps? Or one that just fancied a stroll in the treasure room?"

Alfred forced out another laugh, "Yeah, something like that. Got a bit tired of this place and figured I was owed some compensation before I left."

"The start of a truly noble career, I see," Arthur smirked, "Got any plans after this, Al the Thief?"

"Nothing grand," he scratched the back of his neck. Honestly he hadn't thought past get out of here, "Leave the country, lay low for a bit, whatever I want really," he laughed again, "After I'm out of here, the world is my oyster."

"Indeed," Arthur had the canvas bag slung over his shoulder when he turned to face him, "Have you considered piracy?"

Alfred blinked. He hadn't, but, "Are you offering?"

"I am," he held out another empty bag for Alfred, "After an unfortunate turn of events and an attempted mutiny, I find myself down several crewmates."

Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Several?"

"Well, there's about three of us left, I suppose," he shrugged, "I could use fresh blood anyway, and perhaps some of those coins over there," he shook the bag, "If you're interested. I wouldn't want to derail your brilliant and thought out plans."

Alfred grinned and snatched the bag, "If it can get me away from here and around the world, I'll take it."

"Excellent," Arthur extended his hand again and Alfred shook it eagerly, "Welcome aboard, Mr. Jones."

"Glad to be aboard, Captain."

"Get those coins and let's be on our way," Arthur nodded.

Alfred gathered as many gold coins as the bag could hold, which turned out to be a decent amount, more than he had planned on taking originally. His new captain seemed satisfied, and together, they both snuck back out of the palace.

And so, Alfred started his new life as a pirate.

* * *

The kidnapping and disappearance of Prince Alfred of Spades was all anyone in the four kingdoms talked about for several years. There were numerous theories, everything from he was kidnapped by Diamonds to weaken the alliance to there never was a Prince Alfred in the first place.

Eventually the Missing Prince of Spades became something of an urban legend…

Meanwhile, the notorious Captain Kirkland and his first mate Al Jones continued sailing the sea.


	47. Swimming for Gold

**This is a USUK Olympics AU for the Olympics. This could take place in 2020, or further along in the future, your choice. There's not much else to say about it except I may be a really big fan of Michael Phelps and I don't really know much about swimming and I'm sorry for that.**

**Enjoy.  
**

* * *

"We're here in Tokyo with Arthur Kirkland, one of the greatest swimmers to come out of Great Britain. So Arthur, you've got the final for the 200 meter Individual Medley later in the evening. Are you nervous?"

"I wouldn't say nervous, no. More excited really. Racing and competition is really what I live for."

"If you do win, this will be the first gold medal in this event for Great Britain, and Team GB's first gold this Olympics. Does that add to the pressure?"

"If I minded pressure I wouldn't be competing in the Olympics."

"You're a favorite to win, but you have some very tough competition in this race, such as the gold medalist from Rio de Janerio and current world record holder, Jake Jenkins from Australia, the silver medalist from the world championships Rio Kiku Honda has home field advantage, and of course the American Alfred F. Jones, who's looking for his record-breaking ninth gold medal in these Olympics. How do you think you'll fare against such staunch competitors?"

"I think I'll hold up just fine. Jake and Kiku will be tough, to be certain, but I've done it before. Alfred is an idiot for thinking he can swim eight races and not wear himself out for the ninth, but apparently no one has told him that."

"You and Alfred have been training together since childhood in California, correct?"

"Yes. My mother was a diplomat and we would spend half of the year in California, where I took up swimming and met Alfred. I still return to California to train during the off season. It's really a funny turn of fate that Alfred and I would end up in the Olympics together."

"Does your friendship make it difficult to race against him on the Olympic stage, where so much is on the line?"

"Of course not. This race will be no different than the thousands of others we've raced against each other, except now there are more people watching. For us, national pride and gold medals don't mean much, not saying I wouldn't mind a gold medal, or that I don't love Great Britain. And Alfred is the most American American you'll ever meet, so it's not like we _don't_ have national pride, it's just that, when we race each other, we try not to let those things get in the way. Does that make sense? I mean, whether he gets his ninth medal or I get Britain's first, he's still going to be an idiot, and we're still going to be friends."

"I think it makes perfect sense. You have quite a friendship to last this long through the years of constant competition against each other."

"We're both competitors, and we're not going to begrudge each other when the other wins. It gets lonely sometimes, since I spend most of my time travelling or in the pool – I mean, I have my coaches and my teammates and they're fantastic, but it's nice to have a friend in the pool too, even if we're against each other."

"I hope your close friendship won't cause you to hold back and let him win."

"It hasn't yet."

"Well, I, and the nation of Britain, wish you good luck in your race this afternoon."

"I will certainly try my best."

* * *

"NBC's Live Olympic Coverage is live from Tokyo. Joining us now is Alfred F. Jones, swimming legend in the making. Later this evening he will swim in his ninth event this Olympics, the 200 meter IM, and attempt to win his ninth gold medal, breaking a record set back during the 2008 Beijing Olympics by the Greatest Olympian ever Michael Phelps. Alfred, thank you for joining us."

"Glad to be here, Bob."

"Right now you're tied with the great Michael Phelps with eight medals won in a single Olympics, and you're going for your ninth tonight. Quite an achievement and you're still only nineteen."

"Well, I try. This way even if I don't get the medal, I still beat Michael out in age."

"Obviously, Phelps is one of your heroes and inspirations. Do you feel any sort of lingering remorse or regret for shattering his record?"

"Not really. Yeah, I look up to him – any swimmer today who says otherwise is lying. He inspired generations of young athletes, but records are made to be broken. The sport can't develop or progress if records just stay the same. Hell he'd _want_ me to break his record. Sports become stale if records stand forever. Besides, it's my turn to be the hero now."

"Nine events in six days. Along with the heats and the qualifiers that's twenty seven races. How are you doing it?"

"Plenty of sleeping and eating for the most part. This is something I've been training for ever since I watched Mike in Beijing when I was a kid, so it's not like I'm unprepared. Although I gotta say, I am starting to get a bit tired."

"Do you think you have enough steam left for this race? You have some tough competitors for this one, Australian world record holder Jake Jenkins, Kiku Honda from Japan who got silver at the World Championships last year, and the gold medalist from the World Championships Arthur Kirkland of Great Britain. None of them will be easy to beat."

"No, that's for sure. They're great swimmers and won't just lie down and let me win, especially Artie, but I'm not asking them to. The Olympics are about testing the limits of human strength and ability, and how am I supposed to do that if I'm not challenged every now and then? I've still got enough hydrogen left in my tank though, so if any of them think I'm going down easy, especially Artie, they're in for a surprise."

"Speaking of Arthur, you've been training with him since you were kids, right?"

"Yeah, he's my best friend. We go way back."

"Is it strange having a close friend on another team?"

"Not really. I mean when you compete on an international level, you're going to see the same faces over and over again. Most of us have a friend or two from a different country. I just happen to know mine from kindergarten."

"Your friendship with Arthur is legendary. Do your Team USA teammates ever give you difficulties for it, like accusing you of losing on purpose when he out swims you?"

"No, they're pretty good about it. They obviously know we're friends, and they do know him too. Besides, and I mean this with complete respect to my teammates and their abilities, they can't beat Artie anyway, so they don't think anything of it."

"Is there any possibility you'll take a dive and let Arthur win?"

"Hell no. Aside from the fact that I'm about to break a record, Artie'll never forgive me!"

"How upset would you be if Arthur did win this race?"

"Not at all. Artie's been up against me all Olympics, so he hasn't won gold yet, and I don't think Britain has a gold yet, or in this event at all, so that'd be good too. Losing the ninth medal would suck, but I'll only be twenty three next time in New York, plus I'll have home field advantage, so even if I don't manage to get it this time, I'd be able to try again. Maybe I'll even do ten events, just to make sure!"

"You certainly seem full of energy for someone who's swam eight events."

"What can I say? I love swimming. I love competing, especially with friends. Whether I win or lose, I'm still going to have a good time."

"You have an enviable attitude. America wishes you luck in your upcoming race and recording breaking gold medal."

"Thanks Bob."

"We now return to the outdoor stadium where US vs. Japan in Women's Beach Volleyball is currently underway."

* * *

"We're back here in the Aqua Dome for another exciting race, the Men's 200 meter IM, where Alfred F. Jones will attempt an unprecedented ninth gold medal this Olympics."

"It's not going to be easy for him, Anne. After racing and winning gold in the 400 IM, the 100 meter breaststroke, the second leg 100 meter freestyle relay, the 100 meter backstroke, the 200 meter freestyle, the 200 meter butterfly, the 100 meter freestyle, and the 200 meter breaststroke, I wouldn't be surprised if Jones collapsed in the pool."

"Jones's stamina aside, he's up against some tough competitors all vying for gold, Dave."

"Right you are. In lane one, we have Yao Wang, a veteran swimmer from China, who won the bronze in the 100 meter backstroke the other day. He's not expected to make many waves here."

"In lane two is the ever popular Frenchman, Francis Bonnefoy. He swept gold in the breaststroke at the World Championships, but has been underwhelming here in Tokyo."

"Current world record holder Jake Jenkins of Australia is in lane three. He's favored to medal here and may cause problems for Jones in the next lane."

"Lane four belongs to Alfred Jones. Do you think he has what it takes to get that ninth medal?"

"We'll find out. In lane five is the best shot to destroy those dreams, a close friend of Jones's, Arthur Kirkland of Britain. If Jones's doesn't win, this race is all Kirkland's."

"Japan's own Kiku Honda is in lane six. The silver medalist in the World Championships, he's a crowd favorite, and a fierce competitor."

"A dark horse from the second heat, Berwald Oxensterina from Sweden is in lane seven. Can he pull another upset and medal here in the final?"

"And finally, Ivan Braginski of Russia is in lane eight. He's not expected to do much here, but he will be the final anchor for Russia in the medley relay in two days."

"Who do you think will win this one, Anne?"

"I think Jones has a very good shot. Even after eight events, he's brimming with energy, and even if that's just for show, his determination is unrivaled. I'll give silver to Kirkland and bronze to Jenkins."

"I think Kirkland's got gold on this one. Jones has pulled off some impressive swimming so far, but nine events I think are pushing it, even for him. Kirkland already has three silvers in Tokyo so far and was gold in this event in the World Championships. Jones will get silver, maybe bronze if Honda doesn't struggle with his turns like he has been all Olympics."

"One thing is for sure, this is going to be an intense and close race, most likely decided by tenths of seconds, perhaps even in hundredths of seconds."

"The swimmers are on their blocks, and it looks like this race is about to get underway…"

* * *

"Hey, Artie."

Arthur looked over to the next lane to where Alfred was grinning at him, "What is it?"

"After I win this, I'll take you out to dinner," Alfred pulled his goggles over his eyes.

Arthur snorted, "And what happens when I win?"

"Hm," he tapped his chin and pretended to think about it, "_If_ you win, you can take me out to dinner. Sound good?"

"That sounds wonderful," he returned his smile and lowered his own goggles.

"Swimmers, take your mark," the disembodied voice announced as the swimmer mounted their blocks.

"I'm gonna beat you," Alfred whispered loud enough for Arthur to hear him.

The tension that had been building up in him vanished as he smirked and whispered back, "In your dreams, maybe."

The starting beep sounded and they jumped into the water, thoughts of records and medals and the other six swimmers in the water far from their mind.

Right now, they were just two friends swimming together.


End file.
